


The Red Letter Box

by ForestFairy



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Bakery, Bittersweet Ending, Canon Divergence, Dark, Depression, Everlark endgame, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Hijacked Peeta, Hurt/Comfort, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, POV First Person, Pain, Pre-Epilogue Mockingjay, Self-Harm, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Smut, Suicide Attempt, Violence, self-punishment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-02-04 01:58:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 95,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1762385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForestFairy/pseuds/ForestFairy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two years after the rebellion Katniss feels lost and more lonely than ever before. She's desperately trying to mend the pile of shards her life has become. Depressed and confused, Peeta decided to keep his distance. A decision that turns out to be a fatal mistake, as it sets in motion a serious turn of events, both might never recover from.</p><p>An angsty post-Mockingjay tale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sender: Gale Hawthorne

**Author's Note:**

> This story is canon-divergence. There are a few things, that will be different from the books. The epilogue doesn't exist. The last chapter of Mockingjay stays like it is, until Katniss and Peeta grow back together. Two major differences also occur before that point in the story. 
> 
> The first difference is that Haymitch doesn't start drinking again after the war. I need him to be the voice of reason and I need him sober.
> 
> Second difference is Katniss' relationship with Gale. In this story Gale isn't in any way responsible for what happened to Prim and Katniss doesn't feel like he has anything to do with it either.
> 
> Please, please, please! read the tags and warnings for this story. I'm not joking about this! If you can't handle Katniss and Peeta in pain or seeing both of them self-harming - this is definitely NOT the story for you.

I wake up with a gasp. For a short moment I am disoriented - the bed, the room - all seems unfamiliar. I think I was dreaming. It wasn't a nightmare, that I am sure of. No, the lingering effects of a dream are still there. I dreamed of home. My old home, in the Seam. From before....before everything really. The dream was vague and I realize I'm not in our small cramped bed together with Prim. I am, in fact, all alone in my huge house in the Victor's Village. It's been two years since the rebellion, since a new era began for Panem. I groan, when the fleeting images of Prim leave my consciousness. It felt so real.  
  
I have a nagging suspicion why I dreamed of the Seam this night.  
  
Today is the 14th of June, Saturday. A train will arrive from District 2. And Gale will be on it.

 

* * *

  
  
A few weeks ago a letter arrived in the letter box. Panem has a functioning postal system now. Gale wrote this letter and it arrived just one day later. Trains are still the  main use of transportation in Panem, but the new postal ministry has received two or three hovercrafts from the government. They deliver food, materials and letters.  
  
Letters arrive every week. From my mother, from Annie, Effie, Hazelle, yes even Johanna seems to prefer the written word over phone calls. Even fan mail from the odd dedicated Mockingjay fan sometimes finds its way to my small red letter box. To my own amazement I enjoyed getting all those letters. I became an avid writer of letters then, so they would never stop coming in.  
  
I have a lot of free time. I still hunt, early in the mornings when the day has just arrived and everyone in District Twelve is asleep. When I return, around midday after having lunch in the woods, I usually sit at my desk, take out my fountain pen and put it to paper. Writing fills me with an unknown joy I didn't know I had left in me. I never was a natural talker, but when I write I can think about what I really want to say and the words flow freely. It felt good and even Dr. Aurelius said it seemed to work like therapy for me. I spend most of my free time from afternoon to evening writing letters. I started to collect stationary and I have a huge assortment now with every pattern and color imaginable.  
  
My passion for letter writing didn't go unnoticed and Haymitch proved to be surprisingly thoughtful. He built me the beautiful red letter box for my birthday last year. There is even a small golden Mockingjay figurine adorned at the left side. Haymitch thought it gave the box a personal touch. It was the best present and I nearly started to cry when he gave it to me. It meant a lot. Swearing off the white liquor - it certainly had been the hardest thing for him. I can't see how he managed to do it and finally stopped drinking - but he did it. I feel proud of him. He told me he needed something to keep him occupied though and geese herding just wasn't demanding enough. He tried a lot of things and somehow ended up enjoying carpentry the most.  
  
When I opened up the box at the end of May I didn't expect a letter from Gale. Naturally he had always been on the list of my pen pals. He still is my best friend - a busy one at that. He works for the new government and in the two years after he moved to Two he only wrote four letters. They weren't  long either. He certainly isn't the letter writing type. I held onto his letters like a lifeline, reread them every other week. They are precious to me.  
  
Sometimes Gale is on TV, when there are programs about politics. Half a year ago when the first official elections took place, he was on TV a lot back then. But I don't like to watch TV. Election period was an important time for Panem so I watched a bit, but I could barely stand ten minutes at a time. TV is hell for me still. I wanted to throw my set out, when I moved back in here, but then I need to be informed, so I couldn't do it.  
  
While Gale doesn't write much, I write weekly. A wide range of topics are covered, but mostly I write about our woods. I always feel a surge of excitement, a small tingle in my stomach when I open my red letter box. I just love to get mail and I grin like a little girl opening a present, giddy with anticipation, every time a letter finds its way into my hands. When I read _Sender: Gale Hawthorne_ my heart skipped a beat. It had been five months since his last letter - which was more of a card anyway. I was so happy that he wrote again! As usual his letter was short. Basically telling me he would visit Twelve. Arrive on the 14th of June. If it was possible, could he stay at my house for a while?  
  
I was a bit annoyed, that he didn't offer more of an explanation on why he would want to visit now. How long he planned to stay, what was he planning to do here? Was it to be an official trip for the government? Or just a visit to dear old Catnip, whom he hadn't seen for two long years? He didn't say. Nonetheless I immediately answered that naturally, he was welcome to stay at my house.

 

* * *

  
  
The afternoon sun burns brightly, as I leave my house to walk to the train station. I'm wearing my favourite yellow sundress. _Someone_ once told me I look beautiful in it. I speed up at the thought and quickly leave the Victor's Village behind. I take my usual route passing the other bakery and follow the smaller road instead of the main road which brings me south of the central square of District 12. The justice building was destroyed in the bombing and in its place a new station was built.  
  
The residents of District 12 will vote for a new name for the District in a few weeks. Posters with propositions are glued to the buildings. Obviously most of our residents don't think _Twelve_ is melodic enough. I was even asked to name it by our new Mayor, an elderly man called Garland. I refused, stating it would always be Twelve to me. I knew they were disappointed, but I didn't want to name it. Or be involved in any way in this community. I cannot really tell that to all these kind and well meaning people here, though. People still look up to me, like I'm some kind of leader.  They think I am here because this is my home and I returned here because Twelve means something to me. Maybe once it did.    
  
That doesn't change the fact that I was banished to Twelve. Here is the place where I was born and the place I'm going to die. It was made pretty clear to me by the new government that I am exiled. Forever. I thought I made my peace with this fact over a year ago. But I am often angry at Paylor and Plutarch and everyone involved in deciding that Twelve was going to be my home, my sanctuary, as well as my jail.

I can not leave here. I don't even know where else I would go. The only place I kind of considered, in these scenarios in which I am free to do as I please, would be District 4. But then, I don't think I could ever live with my mother again. Even though we're on better terms with each other now. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, I guess.  
  
Startled I realize I am already at the station. I'm thirsty and buy a bottle of water at the small store that is next to the station building. Since the Hunger Games I've become famous. I know this. I should be used to the fact. But I hate it. Whenever I interact with people here in Twelve I feel like they are staring, whispering, talking about me. It feels like paranoia. But it isn't, because I don't imagine it happening, it happens. I ignore the curious look from the shop girl, and her cheery "Have a good day, Katniss!" almost makes me want to punch her. I don't know this girl, don't know her name and she talks to me as if she's my friend. It feels weird and uncomfortable. Everyone knows who I am, but they themselves can live an anonymous blissful life. I hate it. I want that life, too. Be a nobody or - at least - blend in.  
  
I sigh as I slide down on one of the brand new white benches on the platform, waiting for the train to arrive. Which it won't for another two hours. I'm too early, but I just couldn't wait to get here. There are a thousand possibilities of what exactly will happen in two hours.  
  
Why is Gale coming back here now? Does he still have feelings for me? My head says, no. He would've come here sooner, he would've written more often, he would've fought for me. Selfishly I hope he might still love me. I was hurt by what he said in Tigris' shop that fateful night. But that wasn't all. He left me here in Twelve without ever considering that I might have wanted him to be here with me. His fancy Capitol job was more important. Maybe he is coming back now to tell me he has moved on. Found another Catnip in District 2.  
  
That doesn't seem to be that far fetched. Gale is older than me, he is good looking, he must long for female companionship. But why did he never offer any insights to his own feelings after the war? If he moved on, he should have told me.  
  
I'm so nervous, I gulp the water down in one go. I'm not sure how I should react to any of these little scenarios. I'll know when I see him. Whatever he wants, it will work out. I've missed him so much, though. We can go hunting early in the morning, if he isn't too busy. Even if he only stays for a few days. I'm so happy that he is really coming. Maybe he will fill up the huge emptiness I am feeling inside.  
  
I'm afraid I'm slowly starting to get seriously depressed again. I talked to Dr. Aurelius on the phone, even wrote him a long letter with my deepest feelings laid bare and open. His reply just said to keep on hunting, keep on writing - continue living. Useless advice. I'm clearly not on top of his priority list anymore. I feel so lonely, it's almost tearing me apart. I just don't see where my life is going. I'm getting older, but I feel like nothing is happening anymore. That I lived my life. That I served my purpose. That I will gradually rot here in Twelve.  
  
A loud signal announces the incoming train. I slowly get up and force myself to smile.  
  
Today is the 14th of June, Saturday. A train will arrive from District 2. And Gale will be on it.

 

* * *

  
  
  
When Gale pulls me into his arms everything falls into place. He looks the same, but different. His smile is wider and kinder. His laugh is infectious. I can't help but smile back when he smiles at me - and I don't have to force myself.  
  
"Catnip," he whispers as he holds me tightly. "I've missed you." I'm almost crying as I realize that this is the first time in over a year that I have physical contact with another human being, not counting Haymitch and his awkward one armed hug on my birthday. I want to wrap myself around Gale and never let go. Suddenly I don't even care anymore that people are staring at me. Gale has only one backpack for luggage and we walk, arm in arm, back to my house. The sun is setting as we arrive at my door and pass the red letter box.  
  
"Wait a minute," I say as I open the box with a small golden key. "Just checking for mail."  
  
Gale chuckles, "You really love your letters, don't you? I feel bad for never writing."  
  
"Doesn't matter," I answer as I scrunch up the lone pamphlet in my mailbox (Another reminder for the District Name Voting) and throw it into the trash can next to my door. I open the door and beam up at him, "You're here, that's all that matters to me now." He smiles.  
  
We get him settled in the guest room, which belonged to my mother once. The room doesn't deserve the name as it has never seen a guest before. Not even the former inhabitant has slept in the big fluffy bed again. I cleaned the room and washed the sheets with an expensive washing mixture from the Capitol. Put a vase with flowers on the nightstand.  I knew Gale always liked these small violet ones, when we were in the woods. I made fresh rabbit stew for us and we eat in my kitchen and laugh and talk for hours. He yawns loudly after midnight is long gone.  
  
"I'm sorry. Keeping you awake all night after such a long journey," I laugh.

"I just don't have the opportunity to talk much. This is probably the most I have talked in months."  
  
Gale raises his eyebrows, "Is that so?" He frowns. I see that he is weighing his words carefully as he continues on, "You have to know I have been really busy during the last two years. I was able to finally get some vacation. My mother was angry when she heard that I was going on a trip. She thought I would spend the time with her and my siblings. But she seemed happy when I told her where I was going."  
  
I nod. Hazelle was always fond of me and I'm still in contact with her. In fact the main topic of our letters is sitting in my kitchen now looking really handsome. I blush faintly. Did I really think that just now?  
  
"Believe it or not Catnip, you will be able to enjoy my company for two full weeks," Gale continues, "No work for me. We can hunt all day, go swimming or do nothing at all. I've never done _nothing at all_ ever, so I'm curious how that will turn out." He grins.  
  
I feel warmth spread through my whole body. Two weeks with Gale!  This summer may turn out to be better than I thought. I'm so relieved. There seem to be no hard feelings between the two of us. Our talk was fun and interesting. Suddenly a feeling overwhelms me, a feeling I thought I lost somewhere in these two years. Like I belong. Safe. Like a part of me has returned. Could it really be? That it was Gale all along? He still has feelings for me? As we make our way up the stairs my thoughts are in turmoil and I feel hot waves running through me. We stop at his door.  
  
"Well, Good night, Catnip," he says slowly. I linger. We are so close. When I'm not moving, he does. Kisses me. Slowly, sensual. I feel the waves turn into shocking arrows. I respond, I can't help it. I'm starving and Gale is like food. He won't let me starve. Never did before. I feel needy and press my body into his. The kiss feels wonderful. I want him. All of him. After what feels like an eternity, we break apart.  
  
"Woah, Katniss," he sighs, "What was that? I think were moving a bit too fast here." I furiously shake my head. This is not a mistake. How can it be when I finally feel _alive_ again? When every waking moment after the rebellion didn't really count as being alive? When I lived in some sort of trance for so long that I sometimes forgot to feed myself?  
  
"No, Gale. This is right. Never did something feel so right to me. I want this. I want you. I want us." And with that I kiss him and press my body into his again. He responds eagerly and I feel his body reacting to mine. It feels amazing to be desired by him. I smile into the kiss when Gale stops once more.  
  
"Listen, I don't want to stop," he groans, "but I also feel like we're moving too fast. I've only been here a few hours. We still have time. Let's wait and see if you still feel like this tomorrow or the day after tomorrow, ok? Please, let's just not rush into this. I want it to mean something."  
  
Count on Gale for being the voice of reason. I nearly would've given in to my cravings without thinking it through. My hormones seem to be off kilter tonight. I agree and we decide to get up at dawn for a long hunting trip to the forest. I give him a short kiss on his cheek and hop into my room. When I close the door I barely make it to the bed and collapse. I feel tired and spent, which is a good feeling tonight. Vainly hoping I might get a good night's rest. I know, I will never spent another night in my life without the nightmares again. I just have learnt to deal with them on my own. My course of action after this evening seems as clear as the liquor Haymitch used to drink. As I slip into sleep my last thought is of Gale and that he might be the one to chase the nightmares away.

 

* * *

  
  
The following two weeks are pure bliss. We hunt, we talk, we swim in the lake. Sometimes Haymitch joins us in the evening for a card game. Him and Gale like each other and always find stuff to talk about, like craft or mutual acquaintances from the rebellion. The days fly by so fast I can't keep up. In fact I'm dreading to look at the calender. Only 14 days. Not nearly enough time to make up for two years. Time never moved so quickly in Twelve.  
  
There is a lot of kissing between us, which I enjoy a lot. I'm ready to commit. Ready to take that next step and I can't wait. I know Gale is trying to buy some time. I can feel his eyes on me, so I know he wants this. The way he talks, the need is hidden in his every word. Every time my hands wander over his body, trying to get to that next level, he gently pushes them away.  
  
I'm getting frustrated and a little scared as the day of his departure draws nearer. We have talked a lot, but there are certain topics he avoids and I'm thankful. I'm sure there is a reason why he won't go any further on a physical level. If I want any progress at all in our relationship, I'll probably have to tell him directly. Talk about it all, expose my feelings. I'm dreading this conversation. I don't want it. Two years and I've become some sort of expert in looking the other way. I had to.  
  
When we trek to the lake one morning I have created a plan to finally get what is needed from Gale, without us having that dreaded talk.  
  
It is humid, but we manage to have our usual swimming contest around the lake despite the heat. Gale always wins, but I'm getting better and better. I almost catch up with him when he crosses our imaginary finish line on the shore. Panting I follow him under the shadow of our favorite tree where Gale is handing me a bottle of water.  
  
"Almost there, Gale. I swear, tomorrow I will win this thing," I challenge, still drawing short little breaths.  
  
"You will never beat me," Gale arrogantly retorts when I decide it is now or never. I am clueless when it comes to seduction, but after our conversation during that first night, it is obvious that Gale is still in love with me. No matter how stupid this may look, he will react. I take off my swim suit. I'm feeling confident now. I was never afraid of this. The scars are obvious, but if there ever was person that won't care about them that would be Gale. His eyes grow big as he looks at me. He openly stares at my wet naked body, glistening in the sunlight. This is the right place, the right time.  
  
"Katniss, what," Gale starts, but I quickly interrupt by embracing him. I look into his hazel eyes and give him a long kiss, which he returns tentatively. I push him against the tree trunk and give him another kiss. He wants to say something so I quickly interrupt him by talking.  
  
"I'm still a virgin, Gale. I wanted my first time to be with you. I can't stand the thought of you leaving before we have taken that last step. I want us to have a real relationship. To be a couple. I've thought about it a lot and it just has to be you."  
  
I formulated this little speech the morning after he came here, thinking hard about the best words, words that he would respond to in a positive manner. Maybe I really became that manipulative mutt _someone_ once accused me of being. He won't be able to resist this. As much as I hate to admit it, the Hunger Games and what followed taught me a lot of things. Made me a lot more cunning. I've become a better liar, I learned to control my face, my voice, my body. Once one just had to have one look at me to know all my secrets. Now I'm the one who knows how to get what I want. And I am a virgin. There is no lie in that part. I couldn't care less about the status of my sexual experience, but I know some things about men by now. About hurt pride, egos and rivalry. This should be a real turn on, saving myself for him _._  
  
Gale looks into my eyes, searches for something. "Are you really sure that you want to make love, Katniss? With me as your partner? I am serious about us, you know that," he pauses, then goes on, voice shaking, "I love you so much. I never looked at another girl, after almost losing you."  
  
I nod. I know, Gale has been with other girls from the Seam. Now it seems there was never a real relationship, just little affairs at the slag heap. That feels like ages ago. I'm secretly satisfied that he didn't fall in love with some girl in Two. No, he is pining for me still. And this is the way it should be, I tell myself. Someone who declares their everlasting devotion shouldn't turn their back on you  - no matter the circumstances.  
  
My voice is brimming with confidence, "I love you, Gale. Let's do this. I wanted this for such a long time." I'm surprised at how easily the words "I love you" leave my lips. It's easy to lie, because it is almost true. He is the person I care most about in this world. I'm not capable of that feeling called love anymore, so _caring_ is the new _love_ for me. But if I want Gale and me to be together, I know that saying "I care about you" won't convince him. I start grinding myself on his leg and he wastes no time in slipping out of his bathing shorts. We kiss and touch more and more, and I'm on a high, celebrating the fact that I made him give in. Gale is so turned on by now that serious talk is far from his mind.  
  
Compared to all the pain I've experienced in the twenty years I've been alive, losing my virginity is a joke. It doesn't hurt one bit, when he pushes in. It just feels a little full down there for a while. Maybe it's not that uncomfortable because Gale is the gentle type. Or the small type. I wouldn't know, as I have no comparison. Despite doing this for the _wrong_ reasons, I'm turned on. Watching him push in and out of me slowly, moaning my name. Showering my face with gentle kisses. Asking me if I'm hurting. Caring about me. The way his face looks, when he comes so soon, after what could have only been a minute of thrusting, is really a sight to behold. I don't come. I didn't expect to. Not the first time. But I enjoy it immensely. To be The One for another once more. That feeling I need to protect at all cost. I cannot disappoint Gale.  
  
We lie in each others arms in the grass under the tree and I slowly caress his skin with soft feathery touches, when he suddenly looks at me with panic written all over his face, "Catnip, what about birth control? We didn't use any!"  
  
I certainly took care of that particular problem a long time ago thanks to my mother. I don't want a child. I asked my mother for help when my cycle suddenly turned irregular. I didn't tell her that it only started after I had forgotten to eat frequently.  She had the perfect solution for my bloody problem in form of a little pill. My mother has her own business now, an apothecary which is part of the biggest hospital Panem has ever seen. She can get me any pill I want and it turns out I want a lot of them. I'm pretty sure my mother is still feeling bad for neglecting me and Prim. And for just leaving me alone here in Twelve. In some twisted way, she is repaying me by not asking any questions and giving out pills for free. Some might be placebos because they don't always work. She won't give me fake medicine for contraception however, that much I am sure of.  
  
I tell Gale he doesn't have to worry about it and climb on top of him, seeing that my touches have the intended effect and he is hard again. My own soreness is vague. I know that he will leave in less than two days. I don't know when we will see each other again, only that it might be months. I try to map out his body, remember every inch for later references. I'm determined to get as much pleasure as possible, already cursing the fact that I only took action now. 12 wasted days. I have to make each second count from now on, until the day after tomorrow.

 

* * *

  
Today is the 28th of June, Saturday. A train will depart from District 12. And Gale will be on it.  
  
I smile bravely as long as Gale is still on the platform. We embrace one last time and he lifts his hand to my head to play with a lone strand of my hair that came loose from my braid, a gesture that is so connected with another time, another place, another..... I act without a second thought, as I jerkily slap his hand away. Not this, not from Gale. His eyes narrow at my reaction. He knows what I'm thinking about and I see my carefully constructed no-serious-talk-plan go awry.  
  
When I desperately throw myself at Gale and start to kiss him I'm not sure if it is to distract him from asking questions or kiss him goodbye. I feel that he can see right through me in this instant. The train driver is hooting already. He must leave now. Barely has time to say more than, "Goodbye Catnip," in a sad, defeated voice and then he is gone. Away from me.  
  
Tears are forming in my eyes as I force my arm to perform a waving motion. When the train cannot be seen anymore I break down crying in the middle of the platform. The passersby can watch a real spectacle here this afternoon. The proud Mockingjay collapses in public. What a sight that must be. I'm all alone again. I already feel the panic like bile rising in my throat. I am not free to follow him. I cannot board a train or fly with a hovercraft, the way my letters do. I want to be on that train with Gale and leave this wretched hole called Twelve.  
  
I told Haymitch to stay away. I don't want him to see me in this state and I surely don't want him go around and talk about me. I know he does talk and with whom and it makes me crazy.  
  
Blinded by tears, barely seeing where I'm going I walk on unsteady feet across the square towards the main road. Too late I realize that I took the short route to the Victor's Village. The panic is threatening to overwhelm me and I force myself to calm down. I'm a strong, grown up woman. I can walk this street and wherever I want in Twelve and no one can forbid it. It is late in the afternoon, which means _he_ won't be out anyway. I keep my eyes on the ground, pass the bakery and break into a run. Sweating, I finally arrive in the Victor's Village. Against all better judgment my head turns to the left, to the house on the opposite side of mine. No sign of life. I breathe out. I didn't realize I was even holding my breath and turn towards my door.  
  
And stop. Someone was at my letter box. And it wasn't the mail man. I'm not sure how I know this, but I do. I fumble for the golden key, feeling nervous. I open the box and yes, there is a letter inside. I take it out and see that there is no stamp or address. Only my name, Katniss Everdeen, is written on the beige envelope in green ink. The characters look a bit messy, as if the writer has forgotten how to write and had to learn anew. I know who has written it now and probably put it in my letter box just minutes ago. I turn around once more looking at his house, searching the windows with my eyes. Still nothing. I return my attention to the letter in my hand. Slowly I flip it over and my gut clenches unpleasantly.  
  
The sender is Peeta Mellark.


	2. Sender: Peeta Mellark

The unpleasant gut wrenching turns into hot anger. I thought we were past this! How dare he? Furiously I start to rip the envelope in two and then stop myself. I have a feeling that he is watching. I'm not the only one who learned a few new tricks in the arena and during all that followed Peeta has become much more skilled at camouflage, at hiding. He knows how to blend in with the scenery, never be seen, stay out of sight. How he is able to make no sound with that artificial leg of his, is a mystery to me. Maybe they taught him in the Capitol and used some technical method to enhance his leg. I wouldn't put that past those _doctors_ , those hijackers. Still tormenting the Mockingjay by letting Peeta silently stalk me.  
  
I don't want to give Peeta the satisfaction of seeing that his stupid letter has me so worked up. And I don't want him to see me throwing it into the trash as that will only encourage him to write another. I will burn it without reading, but I will do that in private.  
  
I enter the house and close the door behind me. I throw the letter into the fireplace in the sitting room, hating that I have to make a fire in summer.  
  
I sit on the sofa knowing I should really go clean up the house now, especially the guest room. However I can't bring myself to do it. It will make the fact that Gale is gone reality. Before I can stop myself I'm tearing up once more. Gale was so kind and sweet those last few days. I had to control myself around him, work hard at holding back so I didn't start to cry and beg for him to stay. I don't think that he would've appreciated the fierce huntress he loves turn into a clingy, weak girl.  
  
I'm climbing up the stairs, exhausted from crying. I barely make it to the guest room. Gale's room. Trembling I walk over to his bed, our bed. I'm certainly not washing those sheets any time soon. They still smell of Gale, of us making love in this room just a few hours ago. I cuddle myself into the pillow and drift into sleep, pretending he is the blanket and still resting here with me.

 

* * *

  
  
Days of longing turn into weeks.  
  
Weeks of desperation turn into months in which the sound of the mail man posting letters is the only thing keeping me sane.  
  
Gale and I - we are officially a couple.  We have what Haymitch calls a long distance relationship. Meaning I can't see my lover, because he is a thousand miles away.  
  
Gale promised that he would return to me as soon as he could get vacation again. Sometimes he is given a free weekend, but Twelve is too far away, the trip takes over a day by train. He would basically have a moment to say hello and give me a quick kiss on the platform and then jump back on the train. I would be okay with even that short glimpse of him. However visiting is out of the question, Gale tells me so in one short card he writes from the Capitol that arrives in September. There is also his family to think of. Hazelle writes she also barely sees her own son, and they live in the same District.  
  
In reality it is all on me to keep our communication running.  
  
I write letters and I call him as often as he has an hour to spare - he created a little time table for me to check when he is available.  
I write daily - he replies monthly.  
I call every weekend, he answers every call - for the first three months. Then suddenly I have to consider myself lucky, if he answers the phone on the pre-determined phone dates at all.  
  
I try my hardest to not sound too reproachful when I write letters to him. Trying to keep my angry mood swings away from him is difficult, because I don't have any outlet for my frustrations other than the letters and calls. He is busy, I get that. I'm not. All I have is too much time doing nothing.  
  
I forget again that I am supposed to eat at least one meal a day. My body steadily returns to the one of a younger girl lacking womanly curves. I begin to look like I did long before the Hunger Games.  
  
Half a year into our life as a couple I realize that I haven't touched myself for two months. My daily masturbating sessions in the guest room seem like a fading memory. When the sheets smell of Gale no longer - only of me - it is time to finally wash them and move back into my bedroom. Sometimes I ask myself if I could have dreamed having sex with Gale. Maybe that wasn't real and all in my head? Is this what the hijacking felt like for my dear neighbor? I won't go over and ask him, that's for sure. The need for sex disappears and is replaced by a desire for more pills to numb down the loneliness. As usual, I mention it to my mother and after a while a small parcel holding a box of pills finds its way to my red letter box.

 

* * *

  
  
Someone is banging at my door. Hard. People have become rude here in Twelve or whatever this place is called now. I'm in the sitting room on the sofa. A quick glance at the grandfather clock in the corner tells me it is half past eleven. I have been staring at the fireplace for quite a while, not noticing my feet have gone to sleep. As I limp towards the front door, loud cursing can be heard from the other side.  
  
"Open the damn door or I'll break it down! I know you're there, Katniss Everdeen!" Haymitch Abernathy's raised voice cannot be ignored.  
  
"Stop it, Haymitch. I'm coming," I try to shout back, however the only sound that comes out is some weird croaking noise. I haven't used my voice for days. When was the last time I talked to Haymitch?  
  
I open the door and there he is, looking wild and his hair is disheveled. "What?" I whisper. He gives me a long hard look, steps into the house and closes the door behind him. He turns to me and gives me a short hug and then steps back to get a better look at me.  
  
"I was worried, Sweetheart. I have been knocking and shouting at your door for five minutes. Why do you lock the door? It's only us here in the Victor's Village. Why do you want to keep us out?" His voice is softer now.  
  
I grimace at that. Haymitch knows exactly that I don't like surprise visitors sitting in my kitchen. That's why I lock the door. When he sees the look on my face he sighs in exasperation, "Look, I have not seen you in days. And you look as thin as a stick and as white as a ghost. When was the last time you ate?"  
  
My answer comes so swiftly he can barely blink.

"Just this morning, I had some berries from the woods and toast for breakfast an hour ago," I turn around quickly and walk into the sitting room, returning to my nest on the sofa.  
  
"Bullshit. You haven't left the house to hunt for days," Haymitch follows me and shakes his head, "It's winter Katniss! There are no berries in the woods. And toast? Why do you lie?  Henry told me he hasn't sold bread to you in weeks. In fact, you haven't been seen by anyone in town since October."  
  
I cringe at being caught lying. I consider telling him I baked the toast myself, but this would really be pathetic.  
  
"What's it to you Haymitch? Spying on me? Why are you talking about me with the townspeople? You know I hate that. Why are you even here?" Anger overwhelms me, "Don't you have work to do?" I know the words are unfair as I speak, but I can't seem to stop myself. When Haymitch is involved I never hold back. He is the only one who can handle the real me anyway.  
  
"Calm down. My workshop will survive a few hours without me. You're important to me. To us. I need to check up on you and I need you to eat. We are concerned about you," Haymitch sighs, "I want you to live Sweetheart. Just surviving won't do. Trust your old mentor, please. You have to eat. What would Gale say if he saw you like this?"  
  
Exhausted all the fight leaves my body and I nod. I look up at Haymitch and then ask in a small voice, "Did you talk to Gale?"  
  
"Yes, I did. He wants to surprise you with a visit and only told me over the phone last night. I thought it would be best if I warned you though. You have to prepare and eat. He'll be over in two weeks. So please, please, promise me you'll go to the bakery and buy food, ok?"  
  
There is too much information in that sentence for my befuddled brain to process. Gale will be back in two weeks? I can't believe it! I could kiss Haymitch for warning me. Immediately I straighten up my stance. Gale can't see me in this state, I have to make sure I look my best when he is here.  
  
"You're right. Sorry Haymitch. I will eat. In fact I will go to Henry's right now. Can I bring you something from town? I can also go to the butcher if you like?" I ask, smiling at the news of Gale's return, feeling eager to leave the house. Suddenly my stomach gives a low rumble and I smirk, noticing that I am indeed hungry. I start to stand up to walk over to the wardrobe to get my coat, when Haymitch interrupts me.  
  
"Wait a minute, Sweetheart," he looks around the room as if he's searching for something. His eyes fly over the fireplace and back to my face, "Uh.... did you check your letter box recently?" I don't know what he's getting at.  
  
"Yes, I check it daily. Why?" Haymitch looks uncomfortable.    
  
"Please tell me you have read his letters." Haymitchs voice feels flat to my ears. I save us both the awkwardness of pretending I don't know who he's talking about. I sink back to the sofa and take a long look at Haymitch.  
  
"No. I haven't read his letters. I threw them out." The face Haymitch is making at my words can only be described as heartbroken.  
  
After I found the beige envelope on that June afternoon when Gale left I had been struggling with my inner demons. I had burned the letter in the morning without opening it. Having no direct contact with Peeta for over a year, a letter from him wasn't wanted. I wondered what had made him spring into action anyway, I couldn't help it. It must've been because he saw me with Gale.  
  
I didn't want to waste a minute and think about his reasons though. I had spent too many long nights wondering about Peeta Mellark and his stupid reasons. He could not worm himself into my mind that easily again, I was determined that he stayed out of my head. But then there was another letter and another and another. All at once "Sender: Peeta Mellark" was written on the majority of my mail. It was like Peeta was forcing me to acknowledge the fact that he existed. I burned each letter immediately.  
  
There was this weekend a few weeks ago when Gale didn't answer my call. I hit a particularly low point. There hadn't been any mail in the letter box that week - only Peeta's. I almost opened his letter. I wondered briefly if Peeta wrote the same words each time or - believing I was reading his musings - happily chatted away. Did he really create new carefully crafted content for each letter? I managed to restrain myself and the letter followed the same fate as its predecessors.  
  
I don't feel bad about it. And I tell that to Haymitch.  
  
"I'm not interested in what he has to say. You know that. Why are you so surprised that I didn't read them? I thought you knew. We never talked about them."  That should have made it obvious to Haymitch that I have no idea what Peeta might be writing about.  
  
"Sweetheart, if I had started to talk about the boy, you would've kicked me out of this house in an instant. And I'm not saying you're wrong about him. Just one look at your face right now makes it clear that you don't have any intention to talk. Nonetheless you have to listen to me for a minute."  
  
"If Peeta has something to say he should come himself," I say coldly, knowing I wouldn't listen to Peeta and leave him standing in the cold at the front door.  
  
Haymitch shakes his head. "No. He cannot do that. Talking to you is hard on him as well. Besides he has no time to waste, knocking at a door that won't open."  
  
I hate that curiosity makes me ask, "What is so important for him to do that he doesn't have time? Nothing to do here anyway. Or is he painting horrible hijacked images of the Mockingjay all night so he can't get out of bed in the morning?" My voice turns icy.  
  
Instead of looking angry Haymitch just looks distressed when he answers, "No. He is busy, because he has a business to run. Remember the bakery? Mellark's?"  
  
What a stupid question to ask. Of course, I remember the bakery, why does he have to ask this? I detect no sarcasm in his tone. And who could forget Mellark's bakery?  
  
I remember each little detail. Everything about it. Without wanting them to, my thoughts fly back to the spring when we all helped rebuilding parts of the town. Peeta had some money from the Victor's winning left so he chose to rebuilt his father's house. He opted for a busy spot on the main road between the new town square and the Victor's Village. Peeta, Haymitch and me spent long evenings carefully planning each room. From the sales front counter to the working area at the back with a big oven for bread and another area for creating cakes and experimenting on smaller pastries. A bright small office for the paper work and a store room with a back-door, where Peeta could place ingredients that came from the other districts and the Capitol.  
  
Unbidden an image flitters vividly before my inner eye. It's early in the morning, the morning before the grand opening. We are preparing for the day I turn around and see....  
  
Peeta, his blond hair shimmering golden due to the rising sun shining through the open door. Looking serenely happy as he lifts a sack of flour to the shelf. And then he looks at me. He is smiling and in that smile lies the promise of a bright future. His blue eyes full of love, sweet adoration and endless happiness.  
  
I try to swallow, but my throat is dry. No, no! I cannot, I _will_ _not_ remember this.  
  
"Yes, I remember the bakery, Haymitch. What about it?" I shake my head to dispel the image, not wanting to think of Peeta this way.  
  
"Have you actually seen Peeta in the Victor's Village lately?"  
  
Thinking hard I try to remember. "No, he has become apt at hiding away it seems," I answer slowly.  
  
I don't know where Haymitch is going with this. Peeta lives in the Victor's Village. We avoid each other, as much as one can avoid another when you're direct neighbors. I often take a different route, leave the house through the back door, scared of running into him. Exhausting, but worth it. It always felt like Peeta was also making the effort to see as little of me as possible. Sometimes I saw his form disappearing around the corner of the road or walking towards Haymitch's house. When I opened up the windows facing his house he could be seen working in his garden or painting his house. That was in summer though and now that Haymitch actually asks me about Peeta I notice that I haven't seen him in a while.  
  
"He is not hiding, Katniss. He is sleeping at the bakery. Basically lives there now," Haymitch hesitates, seems to have some inner fight with himself and then continues.  
  
"The boy, he is at his limit. I'm not sure if I should tell you this, but I guess he thinks you already know. He believes you are actually communicating again through the letters. I told him that was most likely wishful thinking, but he wouldn't listen."  
  
Before feelings of regret over the letters even have the smallest chance to creep up on me, I quickly remind myself that it is Peeta's fault that things are as they are. Peeta doesn't have the right to feel hurt by any action of mine.  
  
My voice is impassive as I ask Haymitch, "What about Elmar and Coraline? They can't be too happy with him sleeping on their sofa."  
  
Elmar and his wife Coraline are new settlers who moved from District Five to District Twelve. Elmar is a baker who lost his bakery during the bombings of the war. He wasn't as well off financially as Peeta so he had to look around Panem for employment. Both of them are a huge help to Peeta. They moved into the apartment on the top floor of the bakery and while Peeta and Elmar are working in the back, Coraline is responsible for the counter, orders and the customers. They are good, nice people. Elmar and Peeta shared a connection immediately. Exchanging baking secrets and tricks of the trade with one another. Elmar is a natural joker and like one of the older brothers that Peeta lost. But then Peeta always drew people to him as moths are drawn to the flame. I have never met anyone who didn't like him. Even after the hijacking Peeta was always kind to strangers and easy to get along with.  
  
"He isn't sleeping on their sofa. There is no sofa, as they are not here anymore. He had to let them go. They returned to Five last spring." My eyes grow large at this.  
  
"They resigned," I whisper, shocked, "But why? There was so much work to do! Why?"  
  
"Sweetheart, please, don't take what I tell you now the wrong way. I know that Peeta made his own bed and now has to lie in it. But have you ever thought about how your actions reflect on others? He once told you that you have no idea about the effect you can have. And that is still true. Currently even more than back then."  
  
"Stop beating around the bush, Haymitch. What are you talking about? What have I done?" I hiss now. I try to wreck my brain to get an answer to the question on whatever I could have done that made Peeta lay off Elmar and Coraline.  
  
"Katniss, you must realize how famous you are. You will always be the Mockingjay, a symbol of the rebellion, a celebrity basically. The boy, he was well liked to, but even back in the first arena, the sponsors and everyone was simply in love with you and you only. Even though he won't believe it, I tried to get Peeta a sponsor's gift as well. However people just didn't respond to him the way they did to you. And it is still true for this small town here. Everyone is fond of you, you're a hero of the war, the one who made it all happen. Sure there are people who have negative feelings, but for the majority, they look up to you. You're an idol here in Twelve. That's how it is."  
  
"So what?" I am almost screaming at my old mentor, "That's not my fault and I never wanted any of it!"  
  
"I know that. But that doesn't change the reality of it. Now tell me Sweetheart, where do you buy your bread?"  
  
At this abrupt change of topic I can only look at Haymitch and answer dumbfounded, "At the other bakery, at Henry's."  
  
"Why? Is Henry's bread the best in town?" Haymitch inquires.  
  
I shake my head. No, it isn't. The best bread in town will always be Peeta's bread. Henry's buns just pale in comparison to every baked good Peeta ever created.  
  
"That's not...that's not the reason why I don't....why I'm not...." I stammer. I don't finish the sentence.  
  
"I know, Sweetheart, I know. But the rest of Twelve doesn't have these inside informations on the former star-crossed lovers. All they see is that Katniss Everdeen prefers Henry Walner's bread to Peeta Mellark's. If the Mockingjay of all people doesn't buy her bread at Mellark's there must be something wrong with it. This is a small town, rumors can destroy you and once the public opinion turns, there is no holding back. In fact Twelve is so small, it doesn't even need two bakeries. Peeta's business was getting slower and slower until he couldn't pay Elmar and Coraline anymore. There are still a few loyal customers left, mostly older residents from Twelve who lived here before the war and knew his father. But numbers are dwindling. The boy has to do the work on his own now from the paperwork to the baking, cleaning, selling. He is working around the clock and it's taking its toll."  
  
I am silent. I honestly don't know what to say. Some voice inside my head is screaming _You should've never burned his letters, you idiot!_  
  
I did what I thought was best, what I thought Peeta wanted as well. I never ever wanted to destroy him. We went our seperate ways but that my actions did this to him cuts like a knife. Peeta's life work. His passion. All that he has left.  
  
"He's in deep trouble financially," Haymitch continues, "If things don't change for him and soon, I don't know what will happen. I tried my best to get the town people back on his side. But I don't have that much power here. It's not only the quality of his bread that is in question with these folks. When you were seen with Gale in the summer people seemed to feel that you confirmed their suspicions that Peeta is a villain who broke your heart and shouldn't be trusted."  
  
Feeling dizzy I grip the edge of the sofa to steady myself. I don't really understand this. Peeta is the lovable one. I'm antisocial and hate to talk to the townsfolk. Why do they love me so much and decided to side with me? It doesn't make sense.  
  
"I'm happy you chose to eat again," Haymitch says, "Don't forget to act surprised when Gale arrives in two weeks. I just have one request. Buy your bread from the boy and make sure that people see you at the bakery and in town carrying his goods. It might be too late, but we've got to give it try."  
  
I'm barely listening, staring at the fireplace, lost in thought. I feel Haymitch's eyes on me. He is waiting for an answer. Slowly I nod.

"Yes, I will go. I will go to him. I promise."  
  
"Good. Thank you, Sweetheart. I don't know how the boy will react to your presence after all this time, so don't try to scare him, alright?" he turns around making for the door, "Gotta go, or else my business will also fail. I'll see you around." And with that Haymitch is gone.  
  
I'm still bewildered. This morning nothing was further from my mind than Peeta and his bakery. Now I promised Haymitch I would visit said place. I can't bring myself to move.  
  
I'm scared of really going there. Seeing Peeta for the first time close up again, talking to him, buying his bread. What seemed like a natural and easy task two years ago, now is a challenge I'm not sure I'm ready to take on.  
  
If what Haymitch said is true though, it is high time I go. Our old mentor wouldn't make this story up. I know it is the truth. I have to make sure that Peeta's bakery won't fail. I can't put this off any longer.  
  
Heavy hearted I get up, grab my coat and purse and leave the house in the direction of Mellark's Bakery for the first time in what feels like an eternity.

 

* * *

   
  
The afternoon is chilly and the last leaves of the year are twirling around in little circles as I come closer and closer to the bakery. My hands are sweaty and my throat is dry. When I can make out the small shop sign which Haymitch so carefully crafted one evening, I feel like my heartbeat is on overdrive. It is crazy but I'm afraid. Afraid of seeing him again up close, hearing that voice. Peering in the direction of the square I see there aren't many people out this afternoon. Silently I curse. I hoped that some gossip would be on the street to tell tales right away. I should've known it wouldn't be that easy. I have to come back here more often.  
  
I'm nearly at the door but I walk past the bakery just risking a quick glance inside. No customer is in and the shop window looks strangely empty. There are a few loaves of rye bread laid out in a basket and I see a lone baguette at the sides. Peeta and his father, back in the days of the old bakery, usually displayed a variety of cake. Prim loved to look at those sweet treats. Sadness starts to overwhelm me at the thought of her. I push the sadness into the furthest corner of my mind as the situation is complicated enough without dark thoughts of the little duck. I just can't handle the grief right now.  
  
When I reach the town square I make for a short circle and trace back to the bakery. I'm really bad at this. Here I am, putting off the inevitable. Returning to the front entrance once more I almost start to linger again. Maybe it is good that I don't have any idea what I'm going to say or else all courage would've left me already. Haymitch ambushed me with this and I'm kind of glad I am here now and didn't have time to overthink this. Straightening up I steel myself and then enter before I can change my mind.  
  
The cheery ring of the doorbell above sounds unbefitting as I push the door open. There is no one in sight, but I hear Peeta's voice calling, "Coming. I'll be right with you!" from the back. I swallow as I wait. The air is warm in the shop. Oven's running on full heat in the back, I reckon.  
  
"What can I do...," Peeta says, hastily appearing through the back door, drying his hands on a small towel and stopping in midstep at the sight of me, "...for you?" he finishes in a low voice. His mouth hangs slightly open in shock.  
  
It is obvious that he didn't expect me. He moves his hands to his eyes and slowly begins to rub them, as if I'm some sort of spirit that suddenly materialized out of nowhere. I wonder if coming here was really that good of a plan. Haymitch would have warned me if Peeta could have one of his episodes at the sight of me, wouldn't he? Is it possible that Haymitch didn't really think this through? Or maybe he never knew what exactly triggered Peeta's episodes so he didn't think of the possibilities this situation might entail?  
  
To distract myself and to stop the awkward silence that has stretched between the two of us I say the first thing that comes to my mind.  
  
"I'd like to have some bread, please."

My voice sounds surprisingly steady. I'm looking Peeta straight in the eyes, trying to see any signs of his pupils dilating - preparing to flee if it happens.  
  
Peeta blinks and doesn't answer. The silence is unbearable. I don't know what to do. When he doesn't move I finally break eye contact and take a look at the counter. What I see is almost as pathetic as the displayed bread in the window. About three regular loaves of bread, one nut and raisin bread and a dozen wheat, rye and regular rolls. That's all. I never saw it look this empty in here. _This is your fault!_ a little nagging voice is agonizing me in the back of my mind.  
  
"Katniss?" He asks, his voice weak, almost breaking. It sounds like we're back in that horrible cave and he cannot see me. Like I'm hidden by the darkness and he is confirming I'm really there. I force myself to look up at him again. He has tears in his eyes. "Katniss, is that really you?"  
  
I have to hold back a snappy reply at this. He hasn't gone blind, so he should be able to recognize me. I don't answer. Instead I ask "Are there any cheese buns left?" in a bored voice.  
  
I really became good at hiding my real emotions. Peeta on the other hand wears his heart on his sleeve. He looks at the counter as well and then shakes his head.  
  
"No, I'm sorry. I didn't bake any. Today. I mean, there is bread. I made bread. Today. And rolls. Maybe...but...but maybe you'd like some rye rolls? Or nut and raisin bread? You always liked that, didn't you? I'm so sorry about the cheese buns," he is rambling. I don't really know what he is talking about. This boy who was so good with words, words that could make me feel like anything was possible and words that did hurt worse than fire burns on my skin.  
  
I force myself to take a long look at Peeta. Haymitch wasn't kidding in any way. He doesn't look good. Deep dark circles stand out under his red eyes. His golden locks appear ashen. His skin is pale and even though I can make out muscles through his white shirt he looks thinner up close. He also looks older than his twenty years, resembling his father more. But then I think about my own appearance and shudder. Peeta is not the only one who didn't take care of himself. I feel his eyes on me. The desire to leave the bakery becomes overwhelming.  
  
"Well, we can't help that, can we? Just give me the nut and raisin bread then," I speak very fast now and search for my purse urgently, "How much do I owe you?"  
  
"No, no, you don't have to pay, that's alright!" He is also speeding up his talk as if to catch up with me, "I'm sorry, I didn't have any cheese buns ready for you. I should have made some, really. Do you have to leave already? I could make them for you now. We can talk a bit in the back. If not, I could bring them over to your house later. Or tomorrow. Whenever you want. Listen, I'm sorry that there is not that much of a selection to choose from today, I had some troubles with the oven lately."  
  
Peeta gives me an apologetic smile as he slowly wraps the nut and raisin bread in paper. I don't smile back. Peeta is lying to me and that makes me angry. I almost say something when I remember Haymitch's words. Peeta isn't aware of the fact that I know he is in a bind.  
  
In his letters he obviously didn't mention his problems with the bakery. If he did he wouldn't have to pretend that he has oven troubles.  
Or that the reason his assortment became so small is anything other than the fact that there are almost no customers left.  
What the hell was he writing about in those letters?  
  
I'm almost as angry at his lies as I am at his foolish suggestion to talk in private. Has he forgotten everything that happened? He was the one who turned our dealings so awkward, made me keep my distance!  
  
"I don't need your charity, Peeta. Just tell me how much," I say coldly and he flinches as if I'd slapped him. He tells me a ridiculously low price and I count the money and leave it atop the coin tray. No wonder he is in trouble, if he sells his products for so little. Mrs. Mellark would turn in her grave if she'd witness her son's short sighted business decisions. And for once I would agree with her. I take the wrapped bread from his hands and make to leave, not wanting to stay a minute longer.  
  
"Wait please, Katniss. It's been months since I mentioned it, so I thought you wouldn't come, which I'd understand of course. But I'm so glad, you came, really," he is speaking again and to hear him talk like that only makes me more irritated.  
  
For the second time time today I feel ashamed about the way I acted. Peeta deserves to know that I didn't read any of his letters. He could've stopped wasting his time writing them much sooner. I can't bring myself to tell him that I never knew about any invitation of his. Forcing myself to pay attention he babbles on "..and that's certainly true. I meant what I said though, I can deliver to your house from tomorrow on, if you'd like."  
  
He looks at me, expectation shining in his blue eyes. Expectations he has no right to.  
  
I would like nothing better than for him just to leave the bread on my doorstep each morning, to not see the bakery like this, to not have to talk to him again.  
  
However these wishes are in vain. I shake my head and say slowly, "No, but thanks for offering. I'm coming back here tomorrow. You better have these cheese buns ready by then." I try to sound teasing, but my tone is dry.  
  
Peeta is oblivious and just beams at me. I mumble a short goodbye and slip through the door. The doorbell drowns out Peeta's bright "See you tomorrow, Katniss!" and then I'm out on the street.  
  
Our whole exchange couldn't have lasted more than a few minutes but it still felt draining and anticlimatic. We didn't speak about the past and I'm glad for it. I can't help but wonder about tomorrow though and the days that will follow. As I walk towards home I pass a couple of kids on their way to the town square. Unfortunately those don't look like they would tattle much.  
  
The thought of another visit to the bakery lost some of its frightfulness. Our exchange was normal and polite. I'm still not happy that visiting will be a regular event of my day from now on though. Gale will be back in two weeks and I'd rather not want him to know that I am on talking terms with Peeta again, although Gale would probably be glad and think that this is healthy.  
  
Darkness falls over the Victor's Village when I return home and glance at my red letter box. Connecting the dots I observe that Peeta, even though he slept at the bakery for over half a year, made his way to the Victor's Village regularly to drop letters. Letters which I burned immediately. Unbidden images of Peeta sitting at his desk in the back office, writing one of those letter comes to my mind. That must've also taken time, time he didn't have.

I eat a slice of the nut and raisin bread and get ready for bed. I lay down and think of the bread and how rich and good it tasted. Just like the bread he threw to me when we were children. As I drift into sleep my last thought is that it has been much too long since I had any cheese buns and that I do look forward to taste them again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading the second chapter of The Red Letter Box. Did you like it? I was delighted by every hit my story has received so far. I was even more happy when I got kudos. When a kind soul finds the time to write a review that's the icing on the cake for me. Thank you for your feedback. It is certainly appreciated and makes for faster writing!


	3. Sender: Plutarch Heavensbee

_Soft white cotton sheets are tucked around my naked body. A pair of redstarts break into song outside, as a light breeze ruffles the bedroom curtain through the open window. Sunlight leaves a bright impression in the cool of the morning._  
  
_Turning around, I observe Peeta sleeping next to me. It is a rare occurrence that I'm awake while he isn't, so I take the time to study his face carefully. He looks relaxed, like he had a good night, cheeks tinted in a light rosé. I wonder what he is dreaming about? Me? I smile to myself and put my left arm over his bare belly. Cuddling closer I look up at his face and start to play with his earlobe. Giggling at how his expression changes from relaxation to something more urgent, I continue to pinch it tenderly between my thumb and index finger._  
  
_"Katniss," he moans slowly, still lost in dreamland. Arousal strikes my body like lightning and settles between my legs._  
  
I wake up with a gasp. I'm not in my bed. I fell asleep at my desk writing a letter to Johanna last night. Scratching my head I see that the beautiful stationary is now ruined because I drooled on it. It's still early in the morning. Gale will visit in the afternoon. He isn't the only one returning. My sex drive also graces me with its presence again.

And I'm dreaming of Peeta, how splendid. No bloody hijacking dreams or nightmares of abandonment. I got to have _these_ kind of dreams about him. I feel cheated by my body and subconsciousness. I never did anything with Peeta but kiss. Our last kiss was to get him out of the hijacking hell, in the sewers of the Capitol. Hardly a sexual encounter, and at that it took place almost three years ago.  
  
I groan and drag myself into the shower. Washing up, I begin a little beauty program, barely remembering the tricks of my prep team. I only shave under my arms and my legs to make myself desirable for Gale, at the same time assuming he wouldn't mind the hairy me, anyway.  
  
I'm dismayed that I don't dream of Gale. I had sex with him! There were romantic adventures of Gale and Katniss in the woods of all places. We did it at the lake shore and standing up with me leaning backwards against our tree - that was pretty hot. Before we left for my house we also tried it in the water once. Wet but squishy fun. Together with that night in the guest room? Enough to satisfy any sexual fantasy. Sure, I just lost my virginity and was a bit tight at first. Yet, that didn't make me desire Gale any less, quite the contrary. The weeks after he left, his gorgeous smile and beautiful body was all I could think about.  
  
I wonder if Haymitch and Peeta didn't secretly plan on me and Peeta getting closer again. Ignoring Peeta for so long, he is back in my head. I am forced to see him daily, while Gale is a distant memory. It is only natural that my body latches onto visions of Peeta. I didn't take any pills for two weeks and by eating nutritious bakery goods I promptly began to fill up. Peeta kept his promise and started to bake cheese buns. I usually buy them after I come back from hunting. In winter, hunting isn't always that successful, but I make sure to go to the bakery before I trade any game with the butcher. The busiest time in town is in the morning and I have to make sure a lot of people see me coming out of Mellark's. So far our plan to get the townsfolk back on Peeta's side isn't working that well. Other than the cheese buns, he didn't add anything else to the variety of his goods yet.  
  
What is wrong with the townsfolk? Will they ever be satisfied? Maybe Henry is angry that I started buying from Peeta and is badmouthing me? I'm impatient, wishing I could have the old people of Twelve back, who knew us and not only our image. These new settlers are weird. Coming from a long life of oppression and near starvation, finally free to live their life as they want and what do they do? Gossip. Once more I'm reminded how Twelve is not the place I like to call home and I despise that I have to live here.  
  
A glowing pink sun is setting on the horizon when Gale arrives. As I'm not supposed to know he is coming I'm preparing root soup in my kitchen, when he knocks on the door. I act all surprised as I happily take him into my arms. He kisses me long and hard and feeling his arousal on my belly, we waste no time in shedding our clothes and he carries me to the guest room where we make love on the bed, the soup long forgotten. I needed this so much. Being apart for half a year, I got the picture that I was a bit harsh on him when he visited in the summer. I really do love him and didn't only tell him that to bind him to me. I resent that he will leave in four days already and I know I will be back longing for him, missing him and longing some more and then I will go crazy in between.

* * *

  
  
We go hunting every morning of his stay and three days in, on the vigil of his departure I'm having problems concentrating on the hunt. All I can think of is his leaving me alone again. When we check some snares I laid out a while ago and advance deeper into the woods, I can't help myself and ask him, "Do you really have to go back Gale? Can't you stay here a bit longer? You just arrived and I have the feeling you're not going to return anytime soon."

I work hard at keeping any accusation out of my tone.  
  
Gale looks at me and then says, "Oh, Catnip. Don't you think I hate this situation as well? I miss you so much, I can't hardly sleep most of the time, because I think of your cute self."  
  
He comes closer and tickles me. Gives me a short hug which I hesitantly return.  
  
I get the feeling he is trying to appease me. If he misses me so much, why did he not answer the phone when I called? Why didn't he write any letters to me? Yeah, he is busy. But shouldn't you think of your life partner more if you're so in love with them? Actually do everything in your power to be with them?  
  
"You know I miss you, too. So why don't you stay a bit longer? Just a few days. Is that too much to ask for?" Now I can't help it anymore and the nagging tone is there.  
  
He sighs and his voice sounds a tad bit colder when he answers,  
  
"You know that I'm busy. Building up a country after a war is no easy task. It takes years. There is so much to think of, so much to do! And we don't have enough people to do it. There are actually fractions who wish for Panem to return to Snow's system! Can you believe that? We have to do our best that this won't happen and the population of the districts can live in freedom and in peace. You, of all people, should understand that this is important work for the future of this country!"  
  
He is getting louder with each word. We're not going getting any game today.  
  
"I understand that, believe me," I reassure him, "And I'm really proud of you for being so involved in all of this. But don't you think of me at all? Of a possible future with me? How is that supposed to happen with us seeing each other only every other year?"  
  
Now I'm the one who is shouting.  
  
I'm a little shocked at the turn this conversation took. I didn't plan for it to go that way, but these thoughts have been gnawing at me for a while. A long distance relationship only ever works if the goal is to move in together at some point in the future. But how could that ever be possible? I cannot leave Twelve.  
  
I feel a tear falling down onto my cheek. I don't want him to see me cry. Dammit. The task had been so simple. Enjoy four nice days with Gale, make some beautiful memories for the cold winter that is surely to follow. I definitely didn't plan to fight him until he finally sees me crumble down in the woods as I do in this moment.  
  
Strong arms embrace me, holding me tight. I can smell his odor that had been familiar once. He doesn't smell of the woods anymore. That earthy, musky fragrance has been replaced by something different, something much more airy. I'm not sure if I like that. He kisses me slowly. Then looks me deep in the eyes.  
  
"My sweet Catnip. Please don't cry," he hesitates and then continues, "Actually I have given this a lot of thought. I know you don't want to stay here in Twelve."  
  
I sniff and accidently taste a lone salty tear that made its way past my lips.  
  
"No, I don't. You cannot imagine how much I hate this place. It is suffocating me. I want nothing more than out. I want to be with you. Move to Two. Start a new life. Whatever you want."  
  
Gale slowly caresses the top of my head with gentle strokes.  
  
"I talked to Plutarch and most importantly I also talked to Paylor about some sort of pardon for you. They could lift your banishment and then you would be free to choose where you want to live. Plutarch just said it wasn't his decision to make, basically putting all the responsibility into Paylor's hands. He is not as powerless as he pretends to be, though."  
  
His tone sounds distant when he continues.  
  
"Paylor, well, she is very busy. The first time I talked to her about you and asked her if anything could be done, she just simply said no. The second time, she was getting more irritated that I still insisted on the issue. Since then, she won't meet me in private anymore. I think she is afraid of me bringing it up again."  
  
The impact his words have are similar to the feeling of hitting the icy ground, when I returned from the hut where I met Bonnie and Twill. It hurts. I'm thankful that Gale talked to Plutarch and Paylor. But they obviously think I should stay in banishment. More tears keep coming and I grab Gale's hunting jacket to keep myself steady.  
  
"Don't give up now, Catnip. Please, that is not who you are. You are strong!" he insists and lays his warm fingers under my chin and forces me to look at him.  
  
"I have an idea. Start writing letters. You've become skilled at that, am I right? I'll help you to make them more official sounding. Write letters to Plutarch, Paylor and other ministers and important people. If you just keep on doing that, they ought to listen and realize that they have nothing to fear if you have your freedom back. I will give you a list of addresses."  
  
I stop crying at his words. Could it really be? If I just am persistent enough, they will change their minds? I wonder.  
  
"You would really help me with the letters?" I sniffle.  
  
Gale breaks out into a huge smile, "Of course, I will. I would do anything for you. Let's start with them right away."  
  
He laughs and pulls me up, "Come on, I think all the game is gone by now. We have to find something else for dinner tonight."

 

* * *

  
  
Gale's lovemaking is very gentle that evening. He takes his time, slowly touching every inch of my body with his hands and later does things with his tongue, that make me blush just thinking about them. I never even knew a lover would do that, it certainly never crossed my mind. I'm learning a lot of things from Gale during our nights together. He's a talented lover and his tutelage leaves me in awe at his skills in the bedroom. When I awkwardly try to do the same to him, he tells me it isn't necessary. He is bent on spoiling me, only thinking of my pleasure.  
  
I feel bad for shouting at him. He is not at fault when it comes to my banishment and is actively working to be with me, while I didn't take any action at all. I never even thought of trying to reason with the government again.  
  
Maybe Gale realized that I still have a weaker side to me when he saw me cry and he's striving to make amends. I want to do something nice for him, so I slip out of the house around four in the morning to get a perfect breakfast ready, which we can eat in bed later.  
  
It is so early that Peeta only just finished his first batch of rolls and is placing them in a basket behind the counter, when I walk into the bakery. He looks surprised when he sees me. He never seems to get used to me being a regular customer.  
  
"Good Morning, Katniss. You're out early! I'm sorry, the cheese buns are still in the oven, so why don't you wait a while?" He looks at me strangely, then a very faint pink blush appears on his cheeks, "You look beautiful this morning."  
  
"I don't have much time and I don't need cheese buns today," I say ignoring his remark about my beauty.  "Can I have four wheat rolls?"  
  
He takes the warm rolls out of the basket and puts them into a little brown paper bag.  
  
"Do you have a guest?", he softly asks after putting my money into the register. I give him a long look. He is still blushing slightly. Could he have seen Gale? I don't really want to talk about this with Peeta, but I cannot pretend I didn't hear him either.  
  
"Yeah, I have a guest. You remember Gale? He came from District Two a few nights ago," I answer staring into his eyes, daring him to say anything. It is kind of a low blow. Peeta knows very well who Gale is.  
  
"Of course, yes, Gale.  I saw him on TV a few times. He seems to be really busy with his government job, right?  That's very nice of him, to visit you."

He nods to himself and hands me the change.

"I would really like to talk to him. Maybe you can invite him over? He can come by the bakery anytime, I'm always here. Or even to my house, if he prefers that."  
  
I wonder how that would be possible as Peeta is never home in the Victor's Village anymore. Would I let Gale know that Peeta wants to see him and waste the few hours he has left in Twelve? Yeah, sure.

And letting him have a nice long chat with Peeta Mellark in the bakery? No way I'll allow that to happen.  
  
"I can tell him, but he is leaving today. So he won't be able to make it, sorry to say," I tell Peeta who looks kind of forlorn at that. I've got the impression that he wants to ask more, most likely burns with curiosity about me and my relationship with Gale. However I'm pretty certain that Haymitch told him months ago that Gale and me are together. I quickly say goodbye and leave the bakery, almost running home.  
  
Am I being unfair? Peeta is lonely. Even if Gale is not a friend to him, he wants to talk and connect to people. This needn't be about me. Elmar and Coraline left and the whole town started to ignore him. The only people Peeta is talking to are probably Haymitch and Dr. Aurelius, a man who is paid to do so. He is so desperate that he would even talk to his former rival - a man who offered to kill him - of all people. This is the boy who always had a bunch of friends swarming around him at school. And there is no one left. No friends, no family, no one. I swallow as my heart fills up with pity. The boy with the bread is back to worm himself into my heart again and to my biggest horror I realize that I don't have the slightest idea on how to keep him out.

* * *

  
  
Back home I prepare breakfast on a small tray and carry it upstairs. Gale is still snoring away and I smile at that. I put the tray down on the nightstand and look at the alarm clock. It's quarter past five so the darkness will prevail for a few hours. I should get back to sleep but Gale is leaving so soon. The earlier he wakes, the better.  
  
I kiss him awake and he barely has time to open his eyes when I begin to undress him. He laughs at my urgency and moans, "Catnip, you are insatiable," with a glance at the alarm clock. I quickly silence him with another kiss and dive under the sheets to return the favor of last night. He pulls the sheets away and encourages me with his moans and I think to myself that he was wrong about this, it _is_ necessary that I do it for him. His hands are caressing the top of my head, like they did in the woods yesterday. He steadily guides me along and while it is a bit weird at first, I manage to get the hang of it pretty quickly. I want to be an affectionate and skilled lover, one he will remember when we're apart.  
  
Later he notices the breakfast tray and and we hungrily devour two of the wheat rolls and have some of the tea I made.  
  
"These rolls are great, where did you get them this early?" Gale asks unaware of where his innocent question is going to lead. I was so careful, careful not to ever mention anything about bread, bakeries and certainly not Peeta. I managed to avoid this topic for so long that I began to let my guard down around Gale. And now he finds an opening and doesn't even realize it.

Gale is quick witted, he notices when I don't answer immediately and insists in a serious tone, "Katniss, where did you get these rolls?"  
  
"Mellark's Bakery," I give the answer reluctantly.  
  
"Oh," he says.  
  
"Oh," I agree. We are both silent for a while. I'm munching away on the roll, having lost my appetite.  
  
"Catnip," he says softly. "Won't you tell me what happened? After the war? Haymitch only says you and Peeta fell out with one another. Had some sort of big fight. What was that all about? The two of you are on speaking terms again, right?" He pauses, and then "I think I have a right to know and you should tell me."  
  
I'm not ready, not ready to talk about this. Not so much because it still hurts that badly, which it certainly does. I'm afraid of Gale's reaction. It is true that nothing romantic happened between Peeta and me. But it could have. After we returned to Twelve, Peeta Mellark was much more to me than I'd ever like to admit. He was my life raft until he all of a sudden pulled the plug and decided to let me drown. If I am completely honest with Gale and tell him the whole truth, I'm sure he will leave and never come back. I still had erotic dreams of Peeta four nights ago, for heaven's sake. So I can't. I shake my head, pondering on what to say.  
  
"Peeta and me didn't have a fight. It's just that....well, we did not have that much in common after all, him being from Town and me being Seam. We understood that we didn't click. So we decided that we shouldn't spend so much time together. You know that we were just acting when it came to the star-crossed lovers. We were forced together by the circumstances. After the war we couldn't find anything to talk about anyway," I finish lamely.  
  
Even to my ears that sounded pathetic. To reduce our relationship to something as insignificant as the difference between Town and Seam, and getting bored with one another, after all that we've been through, simply doesn't make sense. It certainly doesn't explain why we avoided each other like the plague. Gale seems to think so too. I can see that he doesn't believe a word I say. He doesn't pressure me into a better explanation though, and gets brownie points for that.  
  
The mood changes after my little speech. We don't make love anymore until Gale has to leave for the station. Instead he instructs me in the art of official letter writing, so that I become much more confident in my correspondence with our new authorities. He is pretty good at that and I admit he really came a long way. Living in Twelve without the rebellion he would've wasted his life working away down in the mines, destroying not only his body but also leaving no stimuli for his mind. Gale had always been too intelligent for that horrendous work down there. As a kid from the Seam his future had been bleak indeed.  
  
I wonder if my father also gave up on some great talent. Maybe he wanted to sing for a living, but had to bury that dream deep down in the mines? He was forced to work there, didn't really have a choice and he needed to feed his family. Did he ever think of a rebellion himself? He is long gone and the rebellion came too late. I can't ask him anymore.  
  
At least Gale's life was turned around and we worked together to make it happen. He lives his life, not only free to do as he chooses, he can do what he loves. Have a career. Better late than never. I'm glad about the rebellion and how we overthrew the system. Back then everything happened so fast. It is only now, three years later, that I can appreciate what we all accomplished. It came at a great personal cost and so many of us are gone forever, but how many people can live a better life, hopefully for generations to come? It was worth it.

* * *

  
  
The afternoon arrives quicker than I like and we kiss goodbye. He walks down the road of the Victor's Village alone as I watch him leave from my porch. I told him I couldn't stand seeing him leave from the platform like I did in the summer, because it hurt too much. I didn't tell him that I don't want the townsfolk to see us together and give Peeta a hard time about it, shooting down all the effort I made so far. I have to pretend again, make play for appearances. Will it ever stop? Apparently not.  
  
As if sensing that I'm pretty vulnerable this evening and on the brink of turning to my pill box, Haymitch pays me a visit, bringing apple pie.  
  
"Freshly from Peeta Mellark's oven", he tells me and grins as he cuts it into two pieces. I make us some coffee and Haymitch stays, making sure I eat every last crumb of the pie.  
  
"You and Gale sure had a good time, huh?" he says, eyes twinkling.  
  
"What? Why?", I ask slightly alarmed. The windows were closed, Haymitch couldn't have heard a thing. I'm not that loud and Gale isn't either.  
  
"Take a look in the mirror," Haymitch chuckles. I stand up and walk over to the wardrobe mirror. Even though it is dark I can make out a deep red mark on my throat. I blush crimson when I realize that Gale left a hickey on my throat last night. I return to the kitchen, still blushing and too embarrassed to look at Haymitch. He bursts into a laughing fit.  
  
"You're so precious, Sweetheart," Haymitch is too amused at my distress. "You're almost glowing. No wonder, Peeta burned half of his bread today!"  
  
I perk up at that.  
  
_You look beautiful this morning._  
  
He saw. He must have.  
  
"I'm glad that you two made up, you know," Haymitch says, still smiling slightly, "Life in the Victor's Village is just so much better when you're not ignoring each other. We could even have dinner together. Once a week, what do you say?"  
  
I want to refuse. I also want to tell Haymitch that we didn't really make up. Our exchanges are strictly business. I want cheese buns, he gives them to me, I give him money in return. Sometimes we talk about the weather. Yes, we're back to telling each other the real deep stuff.  
  
"The boy needs a break once in a while. Meeting you might be the only way to get him out of that wretched bakery! Your dear old mentor wouldn't mind some company during these long winter nights either," Haymitch continues, clearly trying to convince me. When I don't answer he takes my silence as a sign of approval.  
  
Should I tell Haymitch that I plan to move away as soon as my banishment is lifted? I'm not sure he would like that. To please him, I oblige the dinner idea. Besides Peeta should get out more or he will die by overworking himself.

* * *

  
  
As soon as Gale is back in Two I start my new project: Writing letters to the government.  
  
Every week one letter goes to each of the ministers and one letter to the presidential office. Most of them are directed at Plutarch Heavensbee. He knows me best and I feel like he owes me.  
  
Offended that, after a whole month of letter writing, no answer finds its way to the red letter box, I step up my game and write three letters a week. Plutarch shouldn't ignore me like this, but he doesn't seem to agree that we two have unfinished business. I complain about this to Gale on several occasions, however he claims that he is unable to help me. Just insists I shouldn't give up and swears that he pesters Plutarch and Paylor as well.  
  
Did Peeta feel that frustrated when he got no replies? He still doesn't know that I didn't read his letters and continued to write. While I don't burn the letters anymore, I hide them away in an old shoebox in the store room. Reading these letters is one last step I'm afraid to take.  
  
After New Year's, when the nights are slowly getting shorter, Haymitch, Peeta and I begin to take turns cooking dinner every Friday night, starting with Haymitch. Being in Peeta's house and in turn, having him sit at my kitchen table, takes a while to get used to. Peeta and I don't say much, while Haymitch never shuts up. Funny how that turned out, but I'm grateful. We did this a lot after the rebellion, it almost feels like back in these days when we were planning the bakery. The Victor's trio of Twelve is back in action and it is like we never parted. It is easy to get used to the company and I have to remind myself to be careful not to enjoy Fridays too much.  
  
When I returned to Twelve I fell into depression. With only old Greasy Sae to keep me company I had a hard time managing to get into some sort of routine. Haymitch couldn't help, he had to fight his own demons and swore off the white liquor during these days. Busy with making sure he would survive himself, he couldn't look after another traumatised war survivor. I don't blame him for that.  
  
Peeta returned a few weeks later. I wasn't quite sure about how I felt. How he felt. But from the day he planted the primrose bushes in my garden my life started to take a positive turn. I allowed myself to grieve for Prim and all that I'd gone through. Somehow, with Peeta's return, hope had found its way into my heart. I saw the beauty in the sunset, enjoyed the sounds of the woods, tasted fresh bread and didn't think that life was so awful after all. Peeta and I spent a lot of time together working on the plans for the town's reconstruction and his bakery. It was his dream to rebuild it and whenever he spoke of his ambition his eyes began to sparkle.  
  
I felt these sparkling eyes on me more than just once. He always looked away quickly when I returned the gaze, hiding behind his blonde locks. I wasn't stupid. Peeta had always been pretty obvious about it. I hadn't forgotten his hopeful remark to Gale in Tigris' shop. Even shortly after the hijacking, he still had been hopeful that I would choose him. He never gave up.  
  
Peeta has many faults, being fickle is not one of them. He was persistant to fight for my love, despite having hijacking nightmares of mutt-me killing his family and destroying our home. Fortunately the episodes stopped completely after he returned to Twelve. At least that was what Peeta made me believe back then.  
  
When we met, his gazes could be described as loving, needing. His eyes began to wander to my lips and that made it clear. Peeta wanted to kiss me. We even came close one evening in the bakery, but were rudely interrupted by Haymitch, whom we both had forgotten was in attendance as well. Surely the opportunity for _real_ kissing was just around the corner.  
  
From that evening on Peeta and me coming together was certainly only a matter of time. We would have a real romantic relationship for our own sake and not for the cameras, or so I thought.  I didn't think of Gale once during these days. My heart had chosen after all. And it wasn't so much choosing, more a natural progress going as far back as the Quarter Quell. If I had died in the clock arena, I would have died as a girl in love.

* * *

  
  
It is Friday at the end of January when my turn for dinner has arrived. I shot a stag last week and still have some left that I didn't sell. Marinated venison with dried herbs from the woods is Haymitch's favourite and Peeta is neither stingy when it comes to complimenting my cooking nor is he a picky eater.  
  
Shortly after midday I'm preparing the marinade in the kitchen as the sound of the mail man posting letters demands my attention. I dash to the front door and see him walking his way in the direction of town. Opening up the red letter box I instantly spot the official looking one, in between three other letters. I flip it around and my heart starts beating faster.  The letter is marked with a seal from The Secretary of Communications. The sender is Plutarch Heavensbee!  
  
I rip it open. It is not a handwritten letter, it seems like someone wrote it on an electric typewriter. They write that it is nice to hear from me, the minister always likes to hear what the citizens think, to understand that the minister cannot answer each letter personally and that he looks forward to more feedback regarding his work soon.  
  
The content is remarkably impersonal. They basically tell me nothing. Or perhaps they do. They tell me that I'm not important enough to warrant a real answer, an honest examination of my request. Did Plutarch really write this or is Fulvia the one to blame for that pile of inanities?  
  
A scream of frustration leaves my mouth before I can stop myself. It echoes through the silence of the Victor's Village as I slump down on the front steps of my house. Hot tears of anger leave streaks on their way down my cheeks. I rip into the letter, wanting to destroy it, making chortling sounds.  
  
"Katniss, Katniss, what's happened? Are you alright?" Peeta is kneeling beside me with lifted arms and twitching hands.  
  
I look up at him through a veil of tears. He seems to be weighing his options. To take me into his arms or to leave me. At this moment I want nothing more than to be comforted by him. A burning desire to hug him overcomes me. Why does he have to appear now? When I am at my weakest? I fight hard to control myself and stand up. Peeta follows suit and I wipe the tears away.  
  
"Bad news, huh?" he asks with a hesitant look at the remains of Plutarch's letter.  
  
"Uh, uh," I reply. "Why are you here this early?"  
  
I'm having a sense of deja vu. A dreadful one.  
  
"Oh, business was a bit slow today, so I thought I'd close up early and help you with dinner. If you'd like. I could peel potatoes or something. Maybe cut the vegetables and....."  
  
"Do you remember the night Buttercup died?" I interrupt him. An unexpected need to talk about it overwhelms me. He is taken aback. I'm sure he didn't expect this from me, not now.  
  
"I am...I'm not...I mean, I don't think....maybe we should go inside?" he stutters, pointing to the door. I ignore his suggestion.  
  
It had been early fall and the nights were still warm in that year. That year of the rebellion and after we rebuilt Mellark's Bakery.  
  
"Funny, isn't it? Looks like were standing in the exact same position as then," I look around, a mean crazy laugh stuck in my throat.  
  
Peeta looks flushed, alarm reflected in his eyes. A mad desire to make him relive the death of Prim's beloved pet engulves me.  
  
"Oh, poor Buttercup. That was a nightmare, wasn't it?"  The edge in my voice is mean, cutting. It almost sounds like I'm the hijacked one.  
  
"Buttercup was such a lucky cat. Survived the bombing of Twelve. Survived the bombing of Thirteen. And even made it back here. Then the luck ran out. When he licked up that venom, it must have been fate, you know? Why survive all this only to be poisoned? Tough luck. But then the odds have never been in our favor, right? Why should Buttercup be the exception?"  
  
"Katniss, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, about that night. I just couldn't...there was so much that happened and....it was just too much...too fast..."  
  
To Peeta's credit, he hasn't fled. Yet. He even tried to justify his actions. I'm impressed.  
  
"Yes, it was too much, too much for you. Too much for me, too much for all of us. But, you know, someone had to do it. And that was going to be me after all."

* * *

  
  
I had killed before, I had killed in the arena, I had killed during the rebellion and I sent Coin into death with my arrow.  
  
Why did the killing of Buttercup weigh so heavy on my heart? It made no sense, I attempted to drown him once before, after all. Killed dozens of animals during my hunts. In the grand scheme of things Buttercup was not that important.  
  
Perhaps the answer is more simple. The night I killed Buttercup initiated the beginning of the end of my relationship with Peeta. Up until that point I felt safe around him, comforted and almost happy. Believing I could always count on him. That night proved me wrong.  
  
I had been asleep, having a horrendous nightmare of the mutts of the first arena chasing me around the training center in the Capitol, while a crowd of bloodied Seneca Crane dummies cheered them on.  
  
A terrible screeching noise woke me up. Dream and reality shifted when the screeching didn't stop. It sounded like a baby crying out. But there were no children in the Victor's Village. A sense of foreboding that something horrible would occur paralyzed me to the bed for a minute. The wailing didn't stop and I quickly put on my dressing gown and went downstairs.  
  
The noise was coming from the front of the house. I opened the front door and immediately made out a small dark lump in the twilight of early morning. As I drew nearer the outline of a ginger furball became visible. The bleeding form of a cat could be seen, lying on the floor, making those horrible noises. There was so much foam around his muzzle that I couldn't make out his mashed-out nose. I stepped into bloody puddles of vomit. He must've fed on something poisonous.  
  
That hideous cat called Buttercup had become an important part of my life here in Twelve, I even made a habit of letting him rest in my bed, stroking his fluffy fur. His purring became some sort of lullaby, helping me find sleep. And now my last link to the little duck was having a death struggle on my door step. I could feel my heart breaking, knowing what would happen. But a fight with death like this could take hours, I'd seen it before.  
  
"Spit it out, Buttercup, spit it out!" I went down to my knees took the little body in my hands to see what I could do to prevent, what I knew wasn't to be prevented.  
  
"For her, please, don't give up!" I couldn't let him die like this. The pain must have been unbearable.  
  
"Katniss, Katniss, what's happened? Are you alright?" Peeta appeared next to my kneeling form. He must have heard Buttercup's yowling.  
  
"Peeta, you must get me my gun! Get me my shot gun, will you? It is next to the door in the store room, do you understand?" I gripped his arm tightly, but still kept my eyes on Buttercup, caressing the poor small creature. I got some weapons for making the hunt a bit easier after the rebellion. The shot gun was one of them.  
  
"What? Katniss, no!" Peeta's voice was high laced with panic.  
  
"What are you waiting for? Get it now!" I didn't look up, still cradling Buttercup in my hands, my dressing gown ruined with Buttercup's bloody retchings.  
  
"No," he said. I finally looked up at him, annoyed at his continued refusal, fearing the worst. But no signs of an episode could be seen.  
  
"Fine then," I laid Buttercup down gently and ran into the house to get the gun. Peeta was still standing there when I returned, looking confused. I didn't know what his problem was, and honestly didn't care at that moment. Only one thing counted. To relieve Buttercup from his pain, to make him pass as fast and easy as possible. I didn't hesitate and pulled the trigger.

 

* * *

  
  
I shake my head to clear away the images of that horrible night. Peeta is still standing beside me, hands twitching, blinking rapidly.  
  
"Please, let us go inside. We can talk about Buttercup, if you want," he swallows.  
  
The urge to lash out at him is gone, replaced only by grief and sadness. I nod and we enter the house. I don't know what to say, what to do.  
  
I want to forgive him, but he hurt me badly. He didn't help me with cleaning up or burying Buttercup. He just stared at me like I was some sort of monster. I didn't know what was going through his mind. That was truly the worst part. He always had been so open with me, open with his feelings. Then he opted to shut down without any explanation or whatsoever.  
  
Peeta had seen me kill many times before, even the mercy kill that was Cato. That night the boy I loved hurled insults at me that I would never forget and I am still not sure I can forgive. Calling me a vicious murderer, disgusting and deadly were the nicest of the bunch. He told me that he despised me. It was like mutt-Peeta had returned. I tried to find solace in the fact that this must have been the hijacking talking, that Peeta didn't really feel this way about me. He loved me, everyone said so. I believed it myself. But he remained cold and dismissive and at that started to avoid me.  
  
Refusing to give up on him though, I went to his house, to the bakery and tried my best to get him talk to me, talk about what made him close up. I gave him time and thought he might recover and come round. I wasn't used to being ignored and didn't understand what kind of game he was playing. I certainly didn't plan on letting him get rid of me that easily.  
  
Two weeks after Buttercup died, another death in District Twelve destroyed whatever I thought I still had with Peeta. Greasy Sae, the woman from the Hob, who had been looking after me for so long, died of a stroke.  
  
I thought I'd suffered enough loss for a life time by then and could barely hold myself up at the funeral. Haymitch offered to take me home, but I didn't want Haymitch, I wanted Peeta. He had attended the funeral as well, comforting Greasy Sae's granddaughter. I begged him to come home with me, after dizziness made me faint. He told me in unambiguous words that he didn't want to and went the other way. All I needed had been some warmth and comfort, but Peeta gave me the cold shoulder instead.  
  
I had not only lost a dear friend who had been like a mother to me, I had also lost the one I thought I would spend the rest of my life with. After the funeral I didn't make any effort to reach out to him anymore and began to shun him as well. I didn't bruise easily, thought myself pretty tough, but he abandoned me when I needed him the most. I had survived without Peeta Mellark before, I could do it again.

* * *

  
  
We prepare dinner and don't talk much. I don't have the energy to address the night of Buttercup's death. He suggested we talk about it, but I spent too many hours brooding about it and its aftermath.  
  
There is a much more urgent problem, I need to face instead. Thinking of the past won't change a thing, I have to think about my future. So Plutarch Heavensbee thinks he can ignore me? I swear, I will make him regret this. I make a mental note to ask Gale for Fulvia Cardew's contacts and Plutarch's private address. I will call them and I will continue to write these letters until my fingers start bleeding.  
  
While we put the plates on the table Peeta says, "Katniss, I need you to know how happy you made me, when you came to the bakery a few weeks ago."  
  
I shrug and grab a third set of cutlery for Haymitch.  
  
"I think, well, I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I'm so glad you read my letters. Reaching out to you wasn't easy, but I understand now why you like to write. Writing letters, the words suddenly started coming back to me, and I can barely stop once I start.  I....uhm, acted strangely that night with Buttercup, but like I told you in the letters, the hijacking..."  
  
"It doesn't matter," I interrupt, "Yes, you acted _strangely_ , if you want to put it that way. It's in the past now. Cannot be undone, the words cannot be unspoken. It is okay, I'm over it."  
  
I see that Peeta wants to explain more, tell me more of his reasons, but I'm not in the mood. He senses that as well. Albeit the silence between us is not as uncomfortable as it was in the beginning of our dinner arrangement. As we wait for Haymitch, I wonder what Peeta will make of me leaving District Twelve. He is stuck here with the bakery investment. Strange, no one banished him, he came back and stayed because he actually wanted to. Twelve is home, it means something to him. He doesn't see it as being stuck, like I do.  
  
"Do you...I mean, are you a couple now? You and Gale?" Peeta looks at his plate not meeting my eyes. It's a similar question to the one he asked in Thirteen, but not as spiteful. The answer is different this time.  
  
"You already know that, Peeta," I answer softly.  
  
He nods and glances at the kitchen clock, "Yeah, I guess, I do."

More silence follows.  
  
Then, "Do you think we can be friends again?"

There is the faintest hint of pleading in his voice. I would've missed it if I didn't know him so well.  
  
I have nothing to lose. I will never let him hurt me again, he won't be able to. And I don't want to part from Peeta with any bad blood left between the two of us.  
  
Feeling at peace, I can't help but smile.  
  
"I would like that very much."  
  
Finally meeting my gaze, his eyes twitching slightly, he cracks a smile back at me.  
  
Haymitch finds us digging into our food half an hour later. Complaining that we started without him, our old mentor makes a big scene, as Peeta and I both laugh at his pompous antics.  
  
It seems the Victor's Trio of Twelve is back in action and it's like we never parted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading the third chapter of The Red Letter Box, dearest reader. This chapter went on longer than I anticipated. I needed to get some back story out of the way and hope it didn't turn out too disjointed. 
> 
> Unfortunately there is more agony in the works for Katniss and Peeta. Just waiting to strike when they least expect it. Aww...I'm sorry. No really. I am. I mean it. 
> 
> Thanks again for all the kudos, subscriptions and reviews! Can you believe that I'm even squealing when I get hits on the hit counter? People might not even read this, or think "This is bull..." but I love them anyway and it makes me happy that they clicked on it. Yay.


	4. Sender: Deanna Paylor

When spring arrives I add up about ten letters that came from several different government institutions. Plutarch or most likely Fulvia continued to send me letters with nonsensical content. The other ministers write back - stating that they aren't responsible. The president writes once, claiming that she will look into the issue and that I should be patient. I'm glad that this letter seems genuine. That Paylor - the president of Panem - knows me personally should amount to something.  
  
Gale visits more regularly. He stayed two weeks at the end of February and another four days at the end of April. He still doesn't write much and the phone dates are difficult as well. While we enjoy our time with hunting, writing or just staying in bed, I often feel he is absent minded when he is with me. Thinking of other things, things that happen in District 2 or in the Capitol. When I ask he denies it. It makes me sad that he doesn't want to talk about it. It seems we're not sharing absolutely everything and that frustrates me. I want to know all about his daily life outside of District 12. If I know what his daily routine is, it will be easier for me to adapt later.  
  
I have a lot of worries these days - I worry about the adjustment issues I might have when we start living together. I worry about finding a job that will keep me occupied. I certainly don't want to become some lazy girl who just waits for her partner to come home all day. Whenever I want to talk about these worries Gale changes the subject. I wonder why he is so closed up about it? We never talk about his work, the only topic that isn't Twelve or banishment related is his family. Does he think I'm too stupid to understand his problems?  
  
Our partnership remains warm and loving, but when he visits in April we have an argument. Unfortunately it is about the topic I tried to avoid as much as I could. Peeta. Gale and I have been a couple for almost a year now and it is a wonder that it took so long for us to actually have this fight.    
  
We walk back home to the Victor's Village after a long day in the woods. We were quite lucky with the hunt this afternoon and managed to shoot a boar that we drag home on a wooden plank, a self-made creation of Haymitch's.  
  
"This boar is pretty big, I think we can afford to share it with others from town, don't you think?" Gale says, trying to find the shortest trail around a couple of thick bushes.  
  
"Yes, I think so. But we could also sell it to the butcher to make some money," I answer, helping to push the boar up a little hill. While I still live on the money I got through winning the Hunger Games and my mother also sends me money regularly, I like to earn a bit myself and selling my game feels natural to me.  
  
"I thought we might give it to Haymitch. Or Peeta," Gale pauses and draws a breath. "Actually I have to tell you something, Catnip. I went to the bakery earlier. To talk with him."  
  
I stop and stare at Gale. Why would he do something like this? Without talking to me about it first? I bite my lip and try to stay calm.  
  
"Is that so? Good for you, then," I say no more and start to push again. I don't want Gale to think I care about their conversation or that I'm curious about it.  
  
"Yes. He seems to be working hard, all alone in that bakery. I asked him about his life and he seemed stressed, but okay. He was happy that I took the time to visit him. He even told me he got his episodes under control, so that's a relief, don't you think?"  
  
Gale definitely wants to test me here, get some sort of reaction out of me. Did Peeta really talk to him about his episodes? I doubt that. His hijacking episodes are deeply personal to Peeta. He has a hard time talking about them, whether it is to me, Haymitch or even Dr. Aurelius. Why should he tell _Gale_ that his episodes are under control?  
  
And are they really? I'm not sure about this. I haven't actually seen Peeta in that state which I would classify as an episode since the sewers of the Capitol. The night I shot Buttercup and the aftermath had been pure Peeta - without dilated pupils and crazy hair gripping.  He didn't panic and there had been an eerie calmness about his behaviour. He certainly had been mean with his words, but it didn't feel like he wanted to hurt me physically.  
  
"Yes, a great relief. Listen can we hurry it up a little? I want to be back in the Victor's Village before nightfall," I answer, eager to change the subject.  
  
"No, Katniss. We won't hurry. I want to talk to you about Peeta right now. You don't get an out this time," Gale demands in an unstable voice.  
  
I look at him, shocked. What is this? Why won't he pretend that Peeta doesn't exist like before? Why is he suddenly talking this way?  
  
"Well, I don't want to talk about Peeta. I don't see why we should even have this conversation, Gale. Peeta is my neighbor and that's all there is to say about him," I state in what I hope is an authoritative tone.  
  
"You told me about having dinner with Haymitch and Peeta every Friday. It is okay that you talk to him, Katniss. You don't have to pretend that you're only neighbors. It is natural that there is a bond between the two of you after all. Would you please stop pushing for a minute and look at me?"  
  
I stop pushing and glare at him. There is this pressing look in his eyes today, forcing me to engage in this talk. I feel the familiar urge to flee when a conversation doesn't go the way I want it to. I shrug at Gale.  
  
"Okay, Peeta is my neighbor and my friend. But not more. So why all this talk about him now? I just don't get it," I say jerkily.  
  
"Because we need to talk about him. You and me Catnip, we are a couple. Peeta Mellark is standing between us like an elephant in the room. I am and I've been in love with you for a long time. That's why I was beyond happy when you kissed me and we started this wonderful relationship we have now."  
  
His eyes turn sad, "You might think me stupid and unaware, but I'm not. I know that Peeta meant a lot to you before. And that he hurt you in some way."  
  
I stare at him open mouthed. "I don't think you're stupid, Gale," I say in a small voice. I feel ashamed. He saw through me from the start, but was scared to say something, maybe fearing I would turn my back on him?  
  
"It's just that I can't stand being your second choice, Catnip. I want to be with you, but not when you actually want to be with another. If you decided to come to me for any other reason than being in love with me, I just....I can hardly bear the thought. If we're a couple because he didn't want you anymore you must understand how much this hurts me."  
  
I am speechless. I don't wish for a romantic relationship with Peeta. Not anymore, not after everything that happened. I must be careful, as Gale is obviously much better at reading me than I thought. I became overconfident in my ability to fool people. It might work on strangers, but Gale knows me so well. Too well. I swallow and try to answer as honestly as possible.  
  
"Well, yes, Peeta did mean something to me. We helped each other after the rebellion, rebuilding our lives here in Twelve. But there was never any romance, I swear. You're the one I love."  
  
Gale gives me a long look and then slowly says, "Why did you stop talking to each other? And don't give me that stupid story about having nothing in common. I want to know the real reason. Peeta didn't tell me, so I suspect it is because one of you rejected the other or something."  
  
I'm slowly getting very irritated and angry. Gale has been talking to Peeta about me! How dare he? I'm thankful that Peeta kept quiet though, obviously also uncomfortable about talking about our very private issues with Gale. I need to calm down. If I react too angry at his accusations it will only make me look guilty. And I'm not guilty.  
  
"Listen Gale, I don't know what Peeta told you. But there is and was nothing, nothing at all between us after the rebellion. He was never my choice and you know that you were my first. I'm sorry if you're insecure about this, but it is the truth."  
  
I sigh and then decide I have to tell Gale something about why Peeta and I fell out.  
  
"You know, I don't know exactly what happened between the two of us. But Peeta kept his distance after the war. He told me he needed space. Well that's it. I followed his wishes. It has nothing to do with romance, rejection or other sappy stuff like you imagine. Sorry to disappoint. We meet again because Peeta and Haymitch are friends. They also share a bond. I don't want to be left out when it comes to the former victors here in Twelve. And Peeta seems okay with it, if he only sees me sporadically. That's all. Are you happy now?"  
  
Gale nods. "I am. I am happy that you're finally more honest with me. That wasn't too hard now, was it? I'm sorry, but I just had to ask. It's been on my mind and we needed to have this talk, trust me."  
  
I start to push the boar again and we continue to make our way back home. I feel glad that we talked about it, too. It is like a huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I don't have to avoid the topic anymore, don't have to be that careful when it comes to mentioning Peeta. Some questions I only answered vaguely, but to me these are too personal. If things aren't clear between Peeta and me why should I tell Gale about it? It is only natural to have some smaller arguments in a relationship, I guess. I shouldn't worry too much as we don't talk about Peeta for the rest of Gale's stay in District 12.

* * *

  
Peeta, Haymitch and I continue having dinner together. It is so much fun that I wonder how I could have done without it. All three of us seem to look forward to Friday night and flourish - enjoying the company. Some days we don't even talk that much, enjoying a nice friendly silence. Living through a trauma like the Hunger Games together makes us have that bond that Gale was talking about. No one but the three of us can understand it, I think.  
  
We're having a nice meal at Peeta's one evening in May, when Haymitch asks Peeta about a recipe for a three-course dinner. He inquires after strawberry tarts with a vanilla custard-filling that Peeta brought over last week.  
  
"Don't worry about the recipe Haymitch, I can make these quickly if you like them so much. I can bring a few over next week to Katniss'", Peeta smiles at Haymitch who looks flustered.  
  
"No, I want to make them myself. I'd really like the recipe, if it isn't a bakery family secret your dear old granny passed onto your father or something," Haymitch says. Peeta and I exchange glances. This is weird. While Haymitch is not a bad cook, he doesn't seem to enjoy the actual cooking part of our dinner arrangements that much. He usually prefers doing the dishes and that is saying something.  
  
"No, no. If it means so much to you, I'll write it down later," Peeta says and starts to put the dishes away, while I wonder about this ominous Granny Mellark. I never even thought of Peeta's grandparents. Were they still alive when the bombs fell? I don't want to spoil the mood so I don't ask, but I don't remember anything about the older generation of the Mellark family. My own folks were long gone before I was born, even my mother's parents. When Greasy Sae made it past 80, that was a remarkable feat for a seam woman, so what about Peeta's grandparents, people from the merchant class?  
  
I decide to investigate later and turn to Haymitch, "Why the sudden interest in cake, Haymitch? Did you discover you have a sweet tooth after all?" I grin at him and he mutters something I don't catch, looking bothered.  
  
"How's the bakery, boy?" Haymitch ignores me and looks at Peeta who is preparing tea at the sink. Interesting. Haymitch changes the topic and is pretty obvious about it. There must be more to it. A lot of things to look into here in Twelve. When you're as bored as I am every distraction is welcome.  
  
"It is pretty good, strangely enough," Peeta is beaming at us.  
  
"Actually," he says a bit sheepishly and then turns around to collect the tray," I was in a bit of a slump for a while, but now things are looking much better. I've got some new costumers and old timers who returned to the shop."  
  
"That's great, Peeta. But no wonder, quality prevails," Haymitch winks at me. These are good news. Oh, how predictable they are here in Twelve. I wink back, happy that we managed to turn the tables before it was too late. Peeta remains clueless.  
  
"What are you planning to do for the summer festival?" Haymitch asks, putting sugar into his cup.  
  
"Oh, I don't know if I will participate. So much to do, you know," Peeta says, circling around his saucer with one finger.  
  
"What is that all about? Summer festival?" I look at them, confused.  
  
"Sweetheart, you really should get out more," Haymitch and Peeta laugh at me. "The summer festival at the end of May is everything people talk about. They even advertise it in other districts. Many people are expected to come."  
  
I scratch my head. I really didn't hear a thing about this.  
  
"And what is this all about? What does actually happen at this festival?" I ask.  
  
"It's just a normal festival with some sort of fun fair for the kids. And the local businesses will all participate, with stalls where they offer their goods and creations. It's been in the planning for months Katniss!" Haymitch looks at me as if I live on the moon.  
  
"Well, I don't have a business, so nobody told me," I shrug.  
  
"True. But our dear mayor, that old bugger Garland, I wonder why he didn't invite you personally, as a main attraction. You could sing or hold some heroic speech, yeah, that would be a real hit." When Haymitch talks like this I suspect he is still drinking in secret. It is not funny, not at all, and I guess it shows on my face. Haymitch doesn't even look guilty and then turns his attention back to Peeta.  
  
"Peeta, you have to participate. Present some small pastries, cakes or waffles to the visitors for free. I swear, they will never want to visit Walner's Bakery again after they tasted them. I can build you a stall if you want," Haymitch looks smug. "It won't be as grand as my own of course, as I have been planning this one for a long time." Our mentor certainly doesn't lack self-confidence.  
  
Peeta is shaking his head, "I'd love to but it's impossible, Haymitch. I have to manage the shop and I just don't have the time to prepare for the festival and attend the stall. It's been tough since El and Cora went back. I can't manage without help."  
  
"How indeed...." Haymitch looks at me, "I can't help you out, because of my workshop. I need new customers as much as any business owner around. There are other people available though. Lazying around all day. Maybe some cute girl from the neighborhood could help an old friend out?"  
  
I sigh. How could I have not seen that one coming?  
  
Peeta eyes dart around the room seemingly looking everywhere but not at me. I thought he would immediately refuse. The Peeta from two years ago would have. Surprisingly he doesn't say a word. Does he want me to help out? I have a hard time imagining that.  
  
"What would that girl from next door have to do?" I try to catch his gaze.  
  
"Well, mostly sales related stuff. I'm busy in the back and when I have to worry about selling and the costumers, I cannot concentrate on baking. Thing is, I only made basic bread dough lately. I'd like to expand, make more cakes with more complex layers and frosting."  
  
"Ah, okay..." I respond, unsure about this. Sales? I think I'm probably the worst sales person around. I don't like people and suck at small talk.  
  
"You could also help baking, if you'd prefer that," he offers. I stay silent.  
  
"Come on, Sweetheart. Please tell me what are you doing all day long? You're bored out of your mind and Peeta needs a helping hand. As you're familiar with the bakery that should count as work experience! He has to pay a nice big salary! You can use that money to expand your stationary collection."  
  
I glare at Haymitch. Peeta's financial situation is still glum, I know that for a fact. He cannot afford an assistant. Haymitch is well aware of that, he told me himself. He is right on one thing though, I know my way around the bakery. We planned the whole building together after all.  
  
"I will help you out, Peeta. At the counter or in the back, I don't mind. You don't have to pay me, but this is temporary only until the festival is over, okay?" I cannot let them think this will be a permanent deal. Peeta would be in trouble when I leave.  
  
"Yes, yes. No problem. This is really nice of you. Thank you!" Peeta breaks into a big smile. He looks like his biggest wish has come true. I'm confused. Why is he so ecstatic about this?

* * *

  
  
It is past midnight when we we make to leave Peeta's house. Haymitch is already out of the door when I feel Peeta's hand on my arm. I shrink back, surprised at his touch.  
  
"Katniss, can you stay for a minute?"  
  
"Sure, what is it?" I calm down, no longer feeling the panic I felt at being alone with him before. It is almost comfortable in a nostalgic kind of way.    
  
"You don't have to do this, you know. I don't expect it."  
  
"Oh..."  
  
"I am grateful that you will help me out, really I am. But if you feel like Haymitch forced you into it, that you don't have a choice, then that would be wrong."  
  
"No. Peeta, don't worry. It is not like that."  
  
"I hope you won't get into trouble. We're going to be working closely together and if at any time you don't feel like it anymore, just say the word. Don't feel obligated to stay."  
  
I am a bit confused at whom I would get into trouble with about helping him out. Gale? Peeta knows that I'm my own person and I don't let anyone dictate me around and naturally he should have no idea that I had that argument with Gale about him. If I want to work at the bakery, I will work at the bakery. I'm more worried about Peeta's ominous hijacking flashbacks. Do they still happen? I think I can handle him, but how can he be sure they won't be coming back? But he knows himself best in the end. I assume he feels secure enough around me or he wouldn't have asked for this particular favor.  
  
"I promise, I won't. Don't think too much about it. We're friends, right? I want to do this for you. And as much as I do hate to admit it, I turned a bit lazy. Haymitch is right, some days I'm bored out of my mind. Helping you out, is helping myself out," I chuckle.  
  
"That's great! Well, not that you're bored, but that you will help. I can't thank you enough." He looks at his watch.  
  
"Gotta go to bed here. I'm too lazy to walk back. A baker's life is not that easy." He waves goodbye and I leave for my house. I'm sure Haymitch has his own agenda for suggesting I work with Peeta. I just don't feel like fighting anymore. I think Peeta and me are in a good place at the moment. That we're having so much fun together is like a little miracle after everything that's happened. It won't hurt me to help Peeta out and maybe give his bakery one last push back into former glory. I'm sure the townsfolk, sans Henry, will love it if I work as a shop girl over there. Peeta is obviously over whatever issues he had with me. I'm still not sure why he feels more than okay with my company at the moment. That leaves me a bit baffled, but I don't spend much thought on it.  
  
I will write to Gale about our arrangement tomorrow. I have to be more open with Gale, and I'm not going to keep this a secret from him. I'm honestly kind of looking forward to the job and about having something to keep me occupied other than hunting and letter writing. It would be more fun at the front with Coraline still around, but I can't be picky. It's the least I can do for Peeta. I will do everything I can to help while I still hold that power here in Twelve.

* * *

  
  
Having Peeta decide that he wants to take part in the festival on such short notice has us rotating like a headless chicken. The festival is only two weeks away and Haymitch must start on Peeta's stall immediately if he wants to get it done in time. I begin my new job behind the sales counter a week before the festival. The customers who come to get their daily bread all look almost as shocked as Peeta did when I first reappeared in the bakery. The Mockingjay is working at Mellark's! The news spread like wildfire through our small community. Peeta notices a big increase of customers starting that day.

I grin to myself as I imagine Henry fuming in his bakery right now. While I'm also at fault some part of me wants to blame Henry for Elmar and Coraline's leaving. Why did that guy have to open a bakery in District 12 of all places? Everyone knows this is Mellark territory. It might be mean, but I hope he is the one who has to close his shop and that maybe Elmar and Coraline will be able to return.  
  
Two days later the customer stream evens out and we can plan accordingly, while Peeta gently instructs me on how he wants things done. He is so thankful that I do this for him, that it seems to make him afraid of ordering me around. Perhaps thinking I'll leave if he isn't careful with me. I'm having no such worries. It isn't hard at all and when the third day rolls around I am confident that I have to take things into my own hands. Weirdly enough I'm a much tougher business person than Peeta, who works better when he is focusing on the creativity of pastry making.  
  
There hasn't been a customer for about five minutes when I decide to check in on him. He is in the back, experimenting on some rainbow colored cupcake frosting for the festival. The smell in the bakery is delicious - mouth watering. Peeta has a look of deep concentration etched on his face.  He is biting on his tongue as he works on the cupcakes. It reminds me of the way he looked when he first created the camouflage in the training center.  
  
"Peeta," I say and he looks up at me. "Do you have a second? I'd like to talk to you." There are a few things that have been bugging me and I must change them before my short time here will be over.  
  
"Yes, of course. I'm so sorry, Katniss. I didn't realize it is so late already. Do you want to take a break? I can close the shop and I can make us some baguettes, if you'd like." He puts the frosting away and smiles at me.  
  
"Hmm, I'd rather we leave the shop open, although I am quite hungry. I can stop eating when a customer comes, so go ahead, do your magic," Peeta mumbles another short apology my way and washes some tomatoes for the baguettes.

"How is it going at the front? I'm sorry, if it is a bit dirty on the ground. I only had time to do a short sweep through this morning."  
  
"Peeta please don't be so formal with me and would you stop apologizing? You can tell me what you want me to do and I'll do it without complaint. Saying you're sorry all the time is irritating," I say teasingly and he gulps a short "Okay" in my direction. I lean against the table and watch him cut some fresh basil leaves.  
  
"I have a few suggestions, would you like to hear them?" I remind myself that I have to ask him about this first. It is Peeta's bakery after all.  
  
Peeta flushes and nods, "Of course, yes. I'm sorry" he smiles, "Uh, I apologized again, didn't I ? I have no idea how to stop it."  
  
I laugh at that.  
  
"Well, I think you should leave the shop open over midday. Even if there aren't that many customers it doesn't make sense to close it, as long as I'm here. And whatever you're baking we should definitely put some cakes in the display window. That makes passersby enter the shop, and those who enter will definitely buy," I start to pace around "Since it is warm, we should open the door, the scent of freshly baked bread will attract more customers. We can also put some some chairs and small tables out at the front. That makes it all look more inviting. But the most important thing are your prices, Peeta. You have to raise your prices!"  
  
I give him a look and then put my hand over my mouth. I'm surprised at myself and shocked about how much I care for the bakery. Peeta has put the baguette in the oven and stares at me, like he isn't sure how to respond. Now it is my turn to blush. How rude this must sound coming from me. I'm here for two days and take over the reins as if I have any rights to this place. I wonder if it's my turn to apologize when Peeta starts to speak.  
  
"Oh. Well, that all sounds pretty convincing. Why not? If you....I mean, would you help me with the pricing? I'm not exactly sure how much I should take to make a profit at the end of the day."  
  
I nod and he looks at me with that familiar awe and I feel warmth spreading through my body. Uh, uh. Not this again.  
  
"Don't take this the wrong way, Katniss, but right now you remind me a bit of my mother," he adds. Luckily that comment has the effect of a cold shower.  
  
"What? That doesn't sound like a compliment," I say. His mother? I still refer to her as the witch in my mind. This woman beat Peeta. Could there be a more unflattering comparison?  
  
"She wasn't all bad, you know. Knew her numbers and the customers. She was a genius when it came to accounting. I only ever learned to bake from my father. Nobody told me how to manage a business. As the third son, they probably thought it futile to teach me as I wouldn't have succeeded them anyway." I never gave it that much thought, but Peeta is right. Being the third son from a merchant family, had that really been the fortunate position I always assumed it was? What kind of job would he have gotten after school? Had he been a girl they could have married him off into another merchant business. As a boy he was practically worthless to his family. Just another mouth to feed.  
  
"When I reopened the bakery Cora kept the books. I only had to bake and basically didn't trouble myself with the rest. Now that I do it by myself and cannot give a hundred percent on each task, I'm afraid the quality of my bread suffered. I can't blame the people for staying away." He looks thoughtful. Is he really clueless that I'm partly to blame for his troubles? If he has no idea, I certainly won't tell him.  
  
"Your bread is still as good as ever, don't worry about that," I reassure him as he hands me one of the cheese, basil and tomato baguettes he just created. I blow on the still hot baguette and have a small bite. It tastes exquisite and a small moan of pleasure leaves me. I love Peeta's creations.  
  
He finally stopped apologizing and his voice is steady when he says, "It's great that you're here now, helping me, Katniss. These last two days were amazing. We're having a lot of fun, right?"  
  
I look at him and he is biting into his baguette while his blue eyes sparkle at me with happiness. The good mood I felt just a second ago suddenly leaves me. Just now - even if it was for a short moment - everything felt so normal between us. Like it did before he shut me out. I curse at myself as I simply forgot what had happened and let my guard down. It is wrong to be laughing together like this and it needs to stop. I need to protect myself.  
  
"Well, I'm here now, but not for long. I won't be able to help you after the festival is over, you know that," I say hastily. He shouldn't get the wrong idea. "In fact, I should probably get started on the pricing soon. I don't know how long I'll remain in Twelve after the festival."  
  
Peeta's smiling face falls a little as he looks at me, "What do you mean? Are you going somewhere?"  
  
"Yep," I say looking into his eyes, "I didn't tell Haymitch yet so please keep it to yourself. I have been planning it for months. I need a change and it needs to happen before I die of old age. I will leave District 12. I'll be moving to District 2."  
  
"No," Peeta says loudly, his eyes wide open, "No, you can't!" He shakes his head and throws his half eaten baguette back onto his plate, producing a clattering sound. I frown.  
  
"Yes, I can. And I will. I want to be with Gale and I'm going to sell my house here in the Victor's Village. Should fetch a good price as the former home of the Mockingjay. Maybe they can use it as a tourist attraction."  
  
Peeta looks aghast at my words and all the lightness of the day seems to have vanished. I got what I wished for as that familiar feeling overwhelms me. The need to be mean and to say hurtful things to Peeta, similar to that night when I received Plutarch's first letter. This need comes from a dark place, deeply buried within myself and only rears its ugly head when I'm alone with him. It terrifies me. When I let them, these thoughts start to consume me entirely.  
  
I feel aggressive, wanting to start a fight with him, but his expression becomes empty. He turns away from me and says, "If you say so." Seems like Peeta has no intention of letting himself be provoked by me.  
  
He lets out a small weary sigh and adds, "You know where the books are, Katniss. You can take them home with you, if you like. And you can decorate the bakery however you want. I'm going to continue to work on the cupcakes now."  
  
I recognize a dismissal when I hear it and so I finish my baguette and return to the shop, preparing to change the things I suggested, starting with opening the front door. He got over the news of me leaving pretty quickly. I'm sure when the bakery is back to its former glory he won't miss me and that's only natural. We ignored each other for years. He will not even notice that I'm gone. Nothing will change in his daily life, so Peeta has absolutely no reason to begrudge me my move into a better future. Sighing I sell two muffins to a little blonde boy who looks at me through huge blue eyes, his expression totally captivated. I wish Peeta all the best for his life and the bakery and should be mature enough to keep the anger I obviously still harbor against him to myself. It won't be long.

 

* * *

  
  
Eventually Friday night arrives. The festival will be held over the weekend and the stands must be put up on the town square on the night before. Haymitch is in an awful hurry as he dumps a couple of boards and shelves on the space on the corner of the road to Mellark's Bakery. Peeta decided to put his stall here for practical reasons. We can run over to the bakery quickly to keep the supplies coming.  
  
"Building it is self-explanatory," Haymitch says and we can only stare at him. "Don't look at me like that! You are victors of the Hunger Games, this should be child's play. You're not the only ones who are busy this night, you know!" And with that he is walking over to his own stall which I locate on the opposite side of the town square. I dumbly stare after him. He is greeting a woman who wears her bushy red hair in a ponytail. She might be around my mother's age or maybe a littler older, wears a white overall and has a drill in her hand. I think I've seen her in town before, but I'm not entirely sure about it. She laughs at something Haymitch says as they search for something in his tool-box together.  
  
"Do you have any idea, if this is the ceiling or the floor? And where does this big one go?" asks Peeta who is already trying to figure out Haymitch's construction. I turn around and sigh. I know I can probably build it up without Haymitch's help. Watching him in his workshop for long hours during the winter made me pretty crafty, even if I say so myself.  
  
"Who is that woman Haymitch is talking to, Peeta?" I ask, as I begin to sort through the separate parts. Peeta looks over at the two of them and then back at me, flabbergasted.  
  
"That's Ermengarde Leger. District 12's doctor. She's been here since we've rebuilt the inner town. Don't you remember?" I shake my head. I don't go to the doctor. I know that Twelve has a new doctor and that she has a practice here near the town square. I never went to see her, because it made me think of my mother. And thinking of my mother made me think of Prim.  
  
"She's nice and competent. You should make an appointment when you have the time. She wants to know each resident and their medical history. That way she can help faster in an emergency situation." Peeta then turns his attention to a redundant screw. "There is one too many, how is that even possible?"  
  
"This screw belongs over there where the little red x is, can you see?" I point to a smaller board to Peeta's left.  
  
"So, Ermengarde Leger it is. The doctor. Haymitch is such a sly dog. Well, I feel kind of dirty. It is like realizing your parents actually have sex," I chuckle.  
  
Peeta almost looses his grip on the hammer he has been holding and gives me a look that is just unintentionally funny. Like he can't believe that I actually have a sense of humor and said that. He shakes his head.  
  
"No way. Haymitch and Dr. Leger? He would've told me," he says.  
  
"No, he wouldn't. He would be too embarrassed. Let's see. Does Dr. Leger come to the bakery?" I ask.  
  
Peeta nods, "Yes, she actually comes every morning. Quite the loyal customer." I grin.  
  
"That doesn't prove anything, Katniss." My grin is getting wider.  
  
"Mr. Mellark," I say in a mock imitation of Caesar Flickerman's voice, "You know your customers preferences well. What is Ermengarde Leger's favorite cake?"  
  
"She likes pastries with a vanilla custard filling. And her favorite fruits are strawberries," Peeta plays along. Ha. I knew it.  
  
"Well, that's it. Haymitch had a dinner date with our dear doctor. They are a couple or at least Haymitch wants them to be!" I conclude.  
  
Peeta is looking at me weirdly. "You've changed. I don't remember you being that observant. And now with just one look you have figured Haymitch out."  
  
Sure thing. Why wasn't I able to read him like an open book then? I shrug. "Haymitch isn't the best actor around. Come on, let's finish this quickly. I really need some sleep if I'm going to work all day tomorrow."  
  
We build up the chunky parts together and then Peeta runs back to the bakery and leaves the precision work to me. He has a long night of preparing in front of him as the festival will last two days. I wave to Thom who passes the stand. The old crew of former miners is leaving for the meadow, preparing a firework that we will all enjoy tomorrow evening. I'm not sure if people really like that sort of thing after surviving several bombings, but who am I to judge? It might be fun.

* * *

  
  
The following day is the most stressful day I ever lived through after the war and I'm surprised that I don't freak out at all. Working in the bakery this week made me a bit more comfortable in handling people. It was a soft transition into the bees nest that Twelve transformed into today. There are so many people out and about, it cannot be only our residents. These are visitors from all over Panem! Grumbling to myself I think that this should have been the perfect opportunity for my mother to visit, but naturally she doesn't show up. I didn't invite her, however I'm certain she knew about this.

It soon becomes evident that Peeta's stall is one of the more popular ones and I know that it has to do with me being here. More than once I hear whispers of _Look, it is Katniss Everdeen!_ or _That girl with the braid is the Mockingjay!_ and I catch some people mumbling something about _star-crossed lovers_ as well. I bear it for Peeta. I still feel uncomfortable with people looking at me and pretend I don't feel their stares. I will never get used to it.  
  
In the afternoon Peeta is filling up the shelves when a couple of teenage girls appear in front of the stand. I recognize one of them as the girl who works at the station shop, the one who always acts like we're best friends.  
  
"What can we do for you?", I ask them. They giggle in synch and I notice they look very similar to each other. Each wears their straight blonde hair in a pair of pigtails that peek out under a white bandana. The one from the station says, "Hello Katniss. My name is Jacqueline and this is my sister Peatrice!" They both giggle some more.

"We just wondered whether you'd like to join us over at the meadow this evening? We will watch the the fireworks with a couple of friends and have prepared a little picnic and want to play some games." I feel thrown off guard by that sudden invitation so I look over to Peeta helplessly. They notice my look immediately.  
  
"We'd also love you to join our party, Mr. Mellark" pipes up Peatrice and slowly turns her attention to Peeta. _Mr. Mellark_? Why is Peeta Mr. Mellark and I am just Katniss? Peatrice waves to a young woman with brown wavy hair who is working at the tailor stall three stands to our left. "You know the seamstress, right? She and most other merchant kids will also be there." They look back at me. "You have to try our self-made lemonade and tell us what you think of it. We like to call it the best lemonade of Panem, but we need people with experience to confirm it!"  
  
They look at me with vigor in their eyes and I know I have to think of something quickly. I don't want to join them, I had enough conversations with strangers for the whole year today. However I don't want to disappoint these two sisters for some reason, so I answer, "I'll think about it."

Jacqueline and Peatrice seem satisfied with that answer, buy two waffles from Peeta and leave. As I watch them walk over to the seamstress I feel a small lump in my throat. I think of Prim and of Madge Undersee and that there might be hope. Even with my limited social skills it should be possible to make new friends in District Two. Peeta, equally as friendless as me, should have no trouble making some more friends here in Twelve and he can start tonight I decide.  
  
"You should join them in the meadow," I say and try to catch Peeta's gaze. He looks at his hands and then back at me. "What about you?"  
  
"Uh, well you need someone to look after the stand or it'll be gone by tomorrow. Stolen by tourists who want some piece of the famous Mellark bakery. You need a skillful watchdog and that's me. I can watch the fireworks from here, that's the great thing about fireworks."  
  
"Then I won't go," Peeta says and now I catch his gentle gaze, "I want to be with you."  
  
_Peeta never stopped loving you._ The thought comes to me like a bright and blinding shooting star arising from the depths of my subconsciousness in this very moment. I always knew. That Peeta loves me is as certain as the sunrise. Not even the hijacking could destroy what is deeply ingrained in Peeta's heart. And still...I push the thought back to where it belongs, far away. This knowledge doesn't make me happy. It will just render me totally helpless and depressed about what happened between the two of us if I start to let it in.  
  
"Let's go and watch it together then. I admit, I really want to know if theirs is the best lemonade of Panem. I do doubt this very much after all the luxuries of the Capitol," I say trying to act as if he hadn't said what he did. Peeta laughs and attends to another customer who is interested in the rainbow colored cupcakes. We've sold out for the day when Peeta sends me back home to change. He insists that I cannot go to the fireworks in my work attire and I agree with him.

* * *

  
I'm in high spirits and kind of looking forward to the party in the meadow when I run back home. I enter the Victor's Village to change into a nice summer dress. The sun is setting over the woods when I spot District Twelve's postman, Meredith, standing at my red letter box. Oh yes, it is mail day today. I was so busy that I forgot. "Good evening to you, Miss Everdeen," he says. "I hope you enjoy the festival. You have anything for me?"  
  
"Yes, just wait a second," I say and go into the kitchen to give him three letters that I wrote before I started to work with Peeta. Two to the government and one for Annie.  
  
"I have something for you as well," he says, "Looks official." He hands me a letter within a soft cream colored envelope. It is sealed with the official seal of the Presidential Office. I can't believe it. I thank Meredith and storm inside. Could it be, could it really be? My official pardon?  
  
It is indeed a letter by Paylor. That is written on the head of the letter. She finally answered. I stare at the envelope in awe. After ignoring me for such a long time, after Plutarch finding a different excuse, a different way to ignore me, this is it! Once and for all. When will I be able to move?  
  
Shaking I take the letter into the kitchen and open it up. It is handwritten, handwritten by the president herself! That's good. I start to read.

 

> _Dear Katniss,_  
>    
>  _I apologize for only being able to answer now, after you've made such an effort to write many letters. Panem will be in your debt eternally and I personally will never forget the role you played in the rebellion. The story of the Mockingjay will be taught in schools for generations to come, honoring your active role in the downfall of the administration of Coriolanus Snow._  
>    
>  _We issued a request in January for our new grand court to examine your official ask for a pardon and lifting of your banishment to the former District 12. I write this letter to you as I've been sitting in the court meetings - arguing for your case._  
>    
>  _It grieves me to tell you that you will receive the official rejection of your request and with that the closing of your case in the mail sometime during the next weeks. I was overruled. I did everything in my power to make the jury see that there is no danger or any harm in your leaving the District to live somewhere else._  
>    
>  _The court argued that this was irrelevant. Your banishment to Twelve is not a punishment that can be revoked, it is a pardon in itself for the crime of assassinating the former president and rebel leader Alma Coin. You weren't executed and the court argued that there needed to be some sort of justice for that. Be sure, my dear Katniss, that I strongly disagree. I see no harm in letting you live your life wherever you choose to. But Panem is a democracy now and we decided on a grand court system. The verdict of this court is binding and we all have to abide to it._  
>    
>  _Naturally you're free to appeal against this verdict. However I do advise against it, as there is a very small chance of a revision of your case. Even then the verdict will presumably be the same. Once more, you have my deepest sympathy and I wish I could have given you a different, positive reply. With this I remain yours sincerely,_  
>    
>  _Deanna Paylor_

  
I feel a cold numbness seeping through my limbs as the letter falls out of my hands. What I just read can't be true. It is a joke, some sick joke they all are making at my expense. What is that supposed to mean _grand court_? How is this even possible? Why did no one tell me about the examination?

Trembling I slowly walk over to the telephone. My hands are shaking as I dial Gale's number which I know by heart. He will have the answer, he will know what to do. He has to. My body can't seem to calm down as I wait for Gale to pick up the phone. I've seen my future crumble in front of me too often. My head feels like it is detached from my body as the monotonous ring tone keeps on droning on and on in a seemingly endless cycle of hollowness.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a fan of cliffhangers so I apologize for ending this chapter here. The next scene - which was included in an earlier draft - would have pushed the word count over 10000 and I think this chapter is long enough. So....will Gale pick up the phone? And if he does, what does he have to say? Argh! ;)
> 
> Anyway, thank you all so much for your feedback. It means so much to me and I'm so thankful when you guys tell me that you think my story is unique and novel. I think it is inevitable to repeat certain scenarios when you stay in a canon-like setting. I'm glad that I seem to have found my niche in this fandom and that I can add something new to all the wonderful stories that are already out there.


	5. Sender: Margareta Everdeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been a while! My excuse is that this chapter was hard to write and finalize. And I'm a bit afraid to post this story, as it is getting darker. The angsty darkness will peak in the next chapter, chapter 6 and that's basically the chapter I'm most afraid of posting. Tags are a double-edged sword. I cannot tag everything that happens in this story, for fear of spoiling it. Maybe I'll do that when it is finished. Enjoy, Chapter 5 Sender:Margareta Everdeen. (What is it with The Hunger Games books and the lack of character's first names....)

Several eternities later someone picks up the phone. It is Gale.  
  
"Hawthorne speaking," he says in a very straight up, business-like manner.  
  
"Gale, it's me Katniss," I swallow. "Can you talk? I really need to talk."  
  
"Catnip? What's the matter? It's late, is everything alright with you?"  
  
His tone immediately softens when he hears it it's me and that actually helps me to calm down a little. I look at the clock over the sink and it's just a few minutes after eight, still early. Gale lives in District Two. I have forgotten how many hours ahead they are.  
  
"I, I.." I take a deep breath and start again. "Gale, I got a letter from Paylor today. She told me there was a hearing or something? About my request to move. Some court decided that I won't get a pardon, that I have to stay in Twelve. What is this all about? What does that mean? Gale?"  
  
Gale draws a short breath and then I hear nothing for a while. I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. I wonder if Gale is thinking of hanging up the phone, pretending there are problems with the line. It is not our usual phone date time, he probably thought it would be safe to take the call. Does he regret it?  
  
"Gale?" I urge. I need answers.  
  
"Yes, I'm still here. I didn't know that they decided this already. I haven't been in the Capitol for two weeks. I thought the final verdict would actually take longer. There are many cases in the queue. Mostly war tribunals about the surviving Capitol politicians."  
  
Never did I care less about war tribunals for some stupid Capitol people. Was he lying to me before? Why did he never once in all the letters we shared, all the phone conversations we had, even all the time he visited me spared a few minutes to inform me that there is a court in the Capitol which is deciding Katniss Everdeen's fate at that very moment?  
  
"What do I care about war tribunals? Paylor wrote that the verdict of this grand court is binding, what the hell does that mean? Answer me, please."  
  
Gripping the receiver tighter, my voice gets high pitched.  
  
"Calm down, Catnip. After we decided to formally request an official pardon that request was issued to the newly instated grand court. I was called in as a witness last February. So were Paylor, Beetee and a few others who were involved in the rebellion. We organized a lawyer for you and it actually seemed like it went in your favor for a while. A few weeks ago several fellow comrades of Coin were called in as witnesses. They don't want to see you forgiven, they are still angry that you weren't executed. There were even fractions arguing for opening up another trial, petitioning that the possibility of your execution was brought back to the table again."  
  
I can feel the rage in Gale's words, and I myself can't believe what I'm hearing. It's been three years and there are still people out there who hate me, who want to see me dead. The thought is tearing me apart. Shudders of fear run through my whole body. How can Gale talk about my death and this court like it isn't wrong at all? I hear that familiar tone he always had when he ranted against the Capitol. But they are talking about me, about his girlfriend, his life partner. About killing me. About banishing me forever. And he doesn't seem surprised. He knew about all of this and never thought to inform me about it?  
  
"If you say Paylor wrote to you, the court must've decided recently, you're probably the first to know. It might be possible that they didn't want me at the sentencing. I'm so sorry, Catnip. I'm so sorry," he continues but I barely pay attention as my thoughts are all chaotic at the moment.    
  
"Please tell me there is something we can do about this. I mean we planned to move in together, right? What do we do now, what can we do?" I hold my breath as I wait for an answer. Now is not the time for blaming him, we got to take action. When he stays silent once more, the sinking feeling is back full force.  
  
"Gale?" I whisper.  
  
"I'm sorry, Catnip. If the court decided, the verdict is binding. There is nothing we can do. You can't move. You have to stay in Twelve. It might be possible to request another trial but not now. Maybe in ten years, when everything has calmed down, when the system is more stable. When people might have…forgotten."  
  
Ten years? He can't be serious. It's been three years, and does he honestly think that I can wait another ten? No, no....I want to be with Gale, and if I can't leave Twelve there is just one option left for the two of us.  
  
"Well, if you think so, we can try in another ten years. I can't stand being apart all the time." My mouth feels like sandpaper and I continue, "You should move back. District Twelve is your home. We can be together. This house here in the Victor's Village is too big for me anyway. You can move in, or we can build a new one. I still have money left from the Hunger Games."  
  
Gale snorts and I immediately sense that this was the wrong thing to say.  
  
"And what would I do there, Katniss? Please don't tell me you'd like me to work in the mines? What did you think my job would be back in District Twelve?" I flinch at his switching from the beloved nickname to the much more neutral Katniss.  
  
While District Twelve became famous for mining, the new future is medicine. The place that was known as the Hob is now a small factory where medication is produced. To ignore the coal would be a waste so the new government decided that parts of the mines were to be reconstructed after the bombings. Panem needs all the resources it can get at this time of rebuilding. It needs more energy than ever before, with the Districts using much more electricity. Coal is a good energy provider. Several men returned to the mines and work there to help create a better future. It was never the place for Gale though, I know this.  
  
"No, not the mines.... I don't know. Just be with me, Gale. We can find you a job. I'm sure of it. It is not as hopeless as you think."  
  
"You just don't get it."  
  
"There are a lot of new businesses here in Twelve."  
  
"I'm not merchant," he pauses, as if he had an epiphany. "Or do you want me to open a shop? Like Mellark's? You should have thought twice about breaking it off with your town boy fiance then."  
  
"Not this please Gale, we talked about this. Peeta and me we were never a true couple! And before? That was all for the cameras. You know that, it helped to keep you alive!"  
  
He ignores me.  
  
"That's your secret desire anyway, am I right? To be with him."  
  
I am speechless once more, that this argument, this accusation about me and Peeta obviously isn't done and dealt with.  
  
"How could I have been so blind? You always avoided him because he must've told you that he didn't want you anymore. What you told me in the woods was utter bullshit. I'm sorry to say I don't feel like being your second choice and I will definitely not align my life to your whims. I should have seen this coming, your baker's boy was still getting moony eyed when I mentioned your name in April."  
  
Gale doesn't seem to realize that he is contradicting himself. Or more likely he just wants to make this about Peeta, changing the subject to something he can rage at. Peeta not wanting me anymore and then getting moony eyed at the mentioning of my name? He is the one talking idiocy, not me.  
  
This argument is not about Peeta and I refuse to make it about him. Gale cannot be allowed to hide behind this.  
  
"Stop calling Peeta a boy. And no, you're the one who is wrong. I chose to be with you and nobody else. Maybe...maybe we could even have a real family one day. That's all I want. Why can't you see that? They took my choice away, my choice to decide where I want to live my life. At least I can still choose whom I want to share it with. And I did. I want us!"  
  
I bite on my lower lip. It is true, that I am reluctant about having children. However most of these feelings were from before, when the Games were looming above all our heads. If Gale wants them....I could see myself rethinking my position some years down the road. Or not. Right now, I simply don't want to lose him and try to convince him to come back.  
  
"You want. _You_ want. Do you even hear yourself talk, Katniss? It is only _you_ that counts in that scenario of a happy family. My wishes will be ignored entirely. That's not a partnership to me, that's only selfishness. I know it is not your fault, but I can not, no, I refuse to live in Twelve ever again. I certainly will not raise any children of mine there. Never," he practically spews out the last word, almost making me feel the spittle. It's been a while since I heard that amount of rage in his voice.  
  
"So what? What do you suggest we do?" I try to make my voice soothing. If he's not coming back, what's his plan?  
  
Silence from his end of the line.  
  
"You're not breaking up with me are you?" I almost whisper.  
  
"I'm sorry, I really am. I just......I don't see any way out of this. Please, Katniss. You must understand this won't work."  His voice turned raw.  
  
"But don't you love me anymore?" I sound small and weak I wonder how he manages to catch what I say.  
  
"Catnip, I, I do. I love you. And I always will," Gale swallows hard. "Saying this only hurts so much because I love you. But, you must understand. The thing is...you know...I can not survive on your love alone. I need more in my life. I'm so sorry, believe me....please."  
  
"You're sorry. You're sorry..." I repeat, my own voice sounds hollow, far away. I'm all dried out. Gale seems to be crying, but my eyes have no tears left.

I made a mistake in believing everything would turn out the way I wanted. Closing my eyes to the obvious signs that Gale would never return here, falsely believing I could start anew in another District. My love is not enough for Gale.

I feel years older when I hang up the telephone without saying goodbye. When Gale doesn't try to call back I know it is over between the two of us. There won't be a happy couple in this house in the years to come. Only Katniss Everdeen.

Alone again.

* * *

  
  
Disappointment crushes me. It is like someone took one of those huge flour bags from Mellark's and threw it on my back, full power.  
  
I hate Gale. No, I don't. I can never hate Gale. Can I? He only did what his heart told him. I understand where he is coming from. If I were in his shoes I would never have returned here either. I don't even blame Paylor, Plutarch or the grand court. Exhaustion overwhelms me. I don't see where my life is going to go to. Made it from one day to another because there was this goal in my head. To leave Twelve became the center of my thinking. What is left? Why am I even existing? What is my purpose in this world? I am not sure how to survive another day, another hour, even the next minutes.  
  
Does the Mockingjay, the symbol of the rebellion have a right to exist after the revolution is over?  
  
Slowly I force my body to stand up. Everything hurts, everything. The pain is so real, my whole body is burning. Needing something to numb me, to cool it down I make my way to the front of the house. Halting like on autopilot I turn left to open the door to my small storage room. For some reason, it smells like the woods in here.  
  
There is the plank Haymitch made for game transporting - falling into my arms. I had stuffed it inside the last time I needed it. I push it to the left.  It's so dark inside the small stuffy room -  the light of the day is already fading.  
  
I barely make out my gun. The gun, the gun...Buttercup.  
  
Prim.  
  
I turn the gun away and search deeper for what I need. There is an old shoebox full of unopened letters. The letters.  
  
Peeta.  
  
I push the shoebox away and my eyes fall on the small parcel I have been searching for all along. It is still unopened and  
  
**Margareta Everdeen,**  
**Sage Apothecary,**  
**Greater Panem Hospital,**  
**District 4.**  
  
has been handwritten on the brown wrapping paper. I take it in my hands and return to the kitchen. Open it up. A small, single slip of paper lies inside. Next to the pill box I need. Taking the folded piece of paper between my fingers I read:

  
  
_Katniss - Here are the pills you asked for. Remember: Do not take more than one a day! Love, Ma_

 

Love? I suppress the urge to laugh out loud....my mother doesn't love me. Never did. She only loves herself. Not even Prim. I feel like a huge divide is opening up between the members of the Everdeen family and I finally see it all too clear. She does not love me, and I'm not sad about it. I also have no love left for her. Everything that she did or refused to do since my father died brought me pain. 

Her not being a mother to me, keeping me company.That she didn't come back to stay with the only family we both have left, hurt me more than I ever liked to admit. I needed her. But she doesn't listen and she doesn't give. She doesn't belong. No, my mother is a woman who doesn't belong with us. She lives on the other side of a huge dividing range. There she is and far, far away on the opposite side there is my father and my little duck Prim. There is no question of where Katniss belongs.  
  
I get myself a cup of water from the sink and throw my mother's note into the trash bin.  
  
Sitting back on the chair I stare at the pill box. Then I take one small pill out of it and swallow it down with a little sip of water. I take another one into my mouth and gulp down another sip.  
  
As I swallow the next one I remember that the parcel had been in the storage room left untouched for almost half a year. I take another pill. The last time I took any pills was when, when...I take another one.  
  
It was on the day I returned to the bakery. I gulp down another pill.  
  
After I barely thought about the pill box. I knew it was there, in the storage room, of course. I take another pill and wonder.  
  
It's dark outside and I listen to the sound of bombs falling on the District 12, destroying my home. Again. Snow finally found me, huh? The bombs are cracking through the usual silence of a usual District 12 night. I swallow another pill. There are only about ten left. My dearest mother was pretty stingy with her precious pills.  
  
I take them all like they are small sugar candies I once had, years ago. An adoring fangirl presented them to Peeta with a huge smile. She told him to share the candies with me. And Peeta did. We feasted on them on the train, cuddling together while watching a Capitol cook show on train TV. Peeta loved cook shows. I remember the look of concentration on his face, his eyes glued to the screen and the need to make him laugh that came over me. I threw a pillow at him, followed by the candy. We threw them through the train compartment, candies in all the colors of a rainbow. Aiming for each other's mouth. We laughed, oh, how we laughed.....  
  
The bombs keep on falling like colorful candies and I keep on waiting for the end to come. Do I want to die? I'm not entirely sure. Prim and Dad will be there to meet me. Maybe I can see Rue again and tell her how sorry I am. And Finnick, Mags....  
  
Vaguely I wonder how long it will take until I finally fall asleep. It seems like it has been endless hours since I left the festival. A scratching sound at my door makes me perk up. Is Buttercup here to guide me along?  
  
I hear voices.  
  
"Peeta?" my voice is frail, barely a whisper.  
  
One last look.  
  
' _Peeta_ ', I think greedily, ' _Peeta, Peeta, Peeta_ '  
  
Tears spill out of my eyes and I start to sob when my eyes meet those of Haymitch Abernathy who just entered my kitchen through the back door. The whites of his eyes gleam in the dark of the room. He looks at the pill box and then back at me. Then he slowly turns around and I hear a female voice from the porch.  
  
"Do you need my help?"  
  
"No, Gardy. I think you should go back. I'll take care of...her. But could you pass by the bakery and tell Peeta that I'm with Katniss? Thanks."  
  
"See you tomorrow," I hear the woman, Ermengarde Leger, say and then something that sounds like a kiss.  
  
Then Haymitch is back. He comes closer and then he hoists me in his arms. Carries me to the sitting room as if I'm a feather. I probably am so I grip him tighter. I'm drowning. Dig my hands deep in his shoulder. It must hurt, but Haymitch leaves me be. Only makes soothing noises. Stays. Is there. Always there. I sniffle. Haymitch smells of timber, faint cologne and something burnt. Vaguely I begin to wonder why he didn't panic after seeing the empty pill box. He sent the doctor away, and he doesn't push his fingers down my throat. He sits us down on the sofa, comforting me. Maybe it's not Buttercup but Haymitch who will guide me along into death. My grip loosens.  
  
"Sshhh", Haymitch murmurs quietly, "Shush. My Sweetheart. My Sweetheart."  
  
Calming down gets harder when Haymitch is so kind to me. I don't deserve kindness. Not from him, not from anybody. Why is he so sweet with me? Why doesn't he hate me like he should? Like my mother does. Like Gale does. Like the whole population of Panem obviously does.  
  
My visions fills with darkness and then…nothing.

 

* * *

  
  
Pain in my back from lying in a weird position is the first thing I register when I wake up. I'm not in my bed I'm still on the sofa in the sitting room. I smell eggs. It's light outside and I don't feel any numbness at all. Not even the hints of a hangover. I grumble and slowly push myself into a sitting position and watch as Haymitch enters the room with a tray containing a hearty breakfast. I see scrambled eggs, bacon and fresh bread as well as a hot steaming cup of my favorite peppermint tea. He places the tray in front of me and I glare at him.  
  
"Couldn't you just have let me die, Haymitch?" I ask him with narrowed eyes. He snorts.  
  
"Oh, Sweetheart. You didn't want to die. Or you would have chosen a more effective method. I know all about these little pills of yours."  
  
Trembling I grab the teacup and take a short sip. Haymitch added just the right amount of sugar needed.  
  
"How?" My voice is barely a whisper. I suddenly feel deeply ashamed about my behavior yesterday and can't look Haymitch in the eye.  
  
"Your mother, of course" he says, matter of factly.  
  
So the pills were not real. Should have known I couldn't count on the woman who gave birth to me on helping me when I needed her. Or maybe I could and still can and she is more of a mother than I gave her credit for. I knew, deep down that she would never have given her traumatized daughter pills that strong. Taking them gave me relief, however weird that may sound, but in my heart I knew they weren't the real deal.  
  
"Do you want to talk about it?"  
  
That Haymitch doesn't force me, actually gives me a choice in having this conversation, makes me sink deeper into the sofa. I don't deserve a person like Haymitch, and I'm a monster for even entertaining the notion of leaving this world without talking to him first. Shuddering I realize that Haymitch is the most important person in my life right now. He is the one I can confide in. I acted so cowardly, not only last night but before. I'd planned on leaving him behind when my pardon would have been finalized.  
  
I told Peeta about it, but that was mainly to get a sick satisfaction. Seeing his blue eyes deeply hurt, to see regret on his features, to make him feel the pain of a loved person just leaving like that, without anything he could do about it. It was payback, I realize. I wanted Peeta to suffer for what he did to me, wanted him to feel exactly the same pain that he inflicted on me after Buttercup.  
  
Haymitch on the other hand, I don't want to hurt. Just imagining the look on his face when I would tell him I would move, I couldn't bear thinking about it. Cowardly I thought of not telling him at all, just jump on a train and write a letter, which I would leave on his table. I never felt as disgusted with myself as I do this morning. I'm selfish and uncaring.

Looking up at him, he smiles hesitantly and I decide I want to be open with him, right here, right now. I was never honest about my feelings, whether it was to Gale or to Peeta. But Haymitch doesn't have complicated romantic feelings for me. He doesn't expect anything from me, only wants to help. He is my friend. My mentor in every sense of the word. He deserves my honesty, as much as I'm able to give. Eating his breakfast, I know that telling Haymitch will take a lot of courage and it'll certainly be easier with a full belly. After I finish the plate, I drain the tea cup and start to talk.  
  
"When I came back to my house yesterday, I got a letter from Paylor. I, well, I didn't tell you before, but I wanted to move to District 2 to start a new life with Gale. District 12, the memories and everything about it is suffocating me. I wanted out and spend more time with Gale. He told me I should reason with the government about lifting my banishment. I never even thought about the possibility before, but when Gale talked about it, he made it seem so easy. Like it was possible. What I didn't know…I mean, what nobody told me was that this obviously wasn't just some easy administrative deed. There was another trial I knew nothing about until yesterday. My request was denied. I will never be able to leave District 12 and Paylor told me in that letter."  
  
I look at Haymitch, awaiting to see surprise on his face, but he doesn't show any.  
  
"Katniss, don't you ever watch TV?" he slowly asks. I shake my head. I hate my television.  
  
"We all know about this trial. It has been in the News for months. We didn't know about the outcome yet, but everyone who watches TV, or reads the paper knew about all of this."  
  
I stare at him, shell shocked. So Haymitch knew? Peeta knew? They all knew? No one said a word, no one ever talked to me about it.  
  
"Why didn't you say something?" My voice nearly breaks.  
  
"You were the one who never talked about it. It seemed to us like you wanted to avoid this topic at all cost."  
  
Confusion and anger sweeps around my foggy mind. They all knew. And no one wanted to talk about it. Even in my letters from Annie, Johanna or my mother, there had been no mentioning about the trial.  
  
"A few weeks ago the media reported that a chance of a pardon was highly unlikely. I'm sorry, Sweetheart. To be honest, I'm confused. You never talked about it and that made us think that you weren't so heavily invested in the outcome, that it was more of a decision on their part to open up this trial again."  
  
Haymitch pours himself a big cup of tea after filling mine. It is weird seeing him drinking tea. I'm still not used to him completely sober, when he has been for almost two years now. My thoughts fly to the shoebox in the storage room. Did Peeta write something about the trial? Maybe he was the only one who mentioned it. I think about his reaction in the bakery and I'm getting more confused. He knew. He knew that I was planning to leave, and he knew the trial wasn't going in my favor.  
  
He told me, " _You can't!_ ", not "Please don't!" or "You shouldn't!"  
  
I shudder. I don't know what to say anymore, but then I remember my intention to be honest with Haymitch.  
  
"It was their decision. I just wrote some letters to the government, Paylor and Plutarch. I never saw these letters as an official request for a grand court trial."  
  
Gale must have known. He instructed me in the exact wording of the letters. A horrible feeling of complete powerlessness overwhelms me. It is similar to the reapings and what I suffered through in the Hunger Games and after I shot Coin.  
  
Once more there was a trial, and once more it was about me, Katniss Everdeen. Everybody had their say in it, but me! It's like all the decisions are made without my involvement, all the words I want to say are bound to be unheard. Nobody seems to care that I am a human being and I have a right to stand at my own trial.

Did we fight for a better future of this country so that another government can adjudicate important life decisions about a person without the person herself having a say in it? I'm angry at this government, angry at what Panem has become. I'm a helpless pawn in a game and no one seems to stand up for me and scream about the injustice of it all.  
  
"So, you decided to take all these pills because you can't leave the District?" Haymitch looks sad. "Is it really that horrible? Here with us? In an environment that you grew up in? I think District 12 has become quite a beauty since the war ended. It doesn't look that dirty grey anymore and I frankly don't see the ugliness. It feels like a different place. With the fence gone, the District isn't restricted, you can run as far as you like in your woods and nobody is going to care. It's not that bad, don't you agree?"  
  
I do agree. But that doesn't matter to me at the moment. There was something else that happened last night. My mouth forms a straight line and I look at the dirty dishes in front of me.  
  
"Gale broke up with me," I whisper. "He doesn't want to come back to live here. I guess District 2 is much less restricting and dirty than District 12, so it doesn't seem like he'd concur with your praise."  
  
"Oh, Sweetheart."

Haymitch is by my side immediately taking me in his arms again. I got more hugs from him in the last hours than in the whole year before that. I sling my arms around him and start to cry once more. I'm glad I don't have to look Haymitch in the eye when he tells me how sorry he is and that Gale is an idiot for refusing a lifetime with a great woman like me. But inside I feel strangely elated.  
  
When I took the pills in a sort of trance yesterday I didn't do it because of Gale breaking up with me. I didn't spare us a lot of thought. When I started the relationship with him, when I threw myself at him over a year ago, I didn't do it out of a romantic motivation, or a crush. I used Gale. I know that. I used him as an escape from the horrors of District 12. I wanted to feel loved. He told me he loved me before, so it felt logical for me to try to get attention from him. He gave me the physical contact, I craved. He gave me the feeling that I was still someone special.  
  
That's why it didn't hurt that much. Because it was never about love. And I somehow got the feeling that Gale's heart also wasn't in it as much as he pretended. He was sad, I could hear it but he probably already decided on this course of action before I called him. When he proposed the idea of moving to District 2 I fell in love with that idea. It gave me a goal, a purpose. And this is exactly what has been ripped away from me last night. Not Gale. Never.  
  
I feel like the biggest hypocrite when Haymitch caresses my back with gentle strokes. He thinks I got my heart broken, that this is the reason for my breakdown. I can't bear to tell him that it's not, so I whisper in his ear  
  
"Please don't tell Gale what I did last night, ok? And please don't call my mother." Haymitch breaks away from me and looks me deeply in the eye.  
  
"I won't call Gale, but I'm not so sure about your mother. Do you think it is wise to keep that from her? She also worries about you, we all do."  
  
I sniffle. I'm sure.

"Yes, please. I don't want her here, couldn't bear to look her in the eye. And obviously you all know me better than I know myself, with the placebos and all."  
  
Haymitch looks a little guilty at that.  
  
"Did you talk to my mother about me?" I ask him.  
  
He sighs.  
  
"I did. It's not easy to see the one you love suffer. Your mother loves you. Maybe not as much as you deserve to be loved, but she is a broken woman, who doesn't know how to handle you. You're an adult and have been for a long time. It is awkward for her. She thought of moving back here, but, well I think she is a little afraid of you. You're not going to let her mother you around, that time has long passed. She thinks she won't have a purpose in District 12."  
  
I snort. Where did I hear that before? Maybe Gale and my mother should move in together. I don't know what to answer Haymitch. Seemingly he talked to my mother and even Gale about me. I know that he did it with the best intention but it is embarrassing all the same. I'm an adult, and it makes me feel like I'm a little girl of ten. Haymitch gently puts my braid behind my head.  
  
"Do you think you can be alone for a few hours? I hate to leave you like this, and I do worry, but I have to go back to the festival, only to put down my stall."  
  
I completely forgot about the festival. The fireworks, the party in the meadow. Peeta and his bakery. He counted on me to be there and I never returned. Shame makes my shoulders slump down.  
  
"Why did you come here to check on me?" I try to ask this question as innocently as possible but Haymitch immediately catches on.  
  
"Peeta was nervous when it was getting late and there had been no sign of you. He kept checking his watch and was afraid you'd miss the firework."  
  
I stay silent. Vaguely I remember that I thought that Peeta would come, come to me to comfort me, to hold me tight. A small jolt of disappointment went through me when I saw Haymitch in my kitchen instead.  
  
"Why didn't…" I stop.

For some reason I don't want to talk about this with Haymitch right now.  
  
"He couldn't, Katniss. He asked me to go and check on you, he was getting hysterical about it. Shouted at me, urging me to hurry."

Haymitch's voice is surprisingly gentle when he continues, "Katniss, I don't think you're in the right state of mind to worry about Peeta. This is for another day, another time. Believe me when I tell you that it was better that he didn't come here to get you. He knew that too."  
  
"Will you tell him?" I whisper. Suddenly I'm scared. I don't want Gale and my mother to know what I did, but for some reason the least of all Peeta. Haymitch is right. It was good that he didn't find me in that state last night.  
  
"No. And I don't think you should either. For the moment. Like I said, I don't think we should discuss Peeta right now. We should focus on you getting better. You must call Dr. Aurelius and tell him what happened. Can you at least promise me that?"  
  
I nod. I'm a bit afraid about that call, but Dr. Aurelius is there for situations like this and I trust him to a certain degree. He will understand.  Haymitch starts to stand up and I also leave the sofa jerkily.  
  
"I must go back to the festival - th…there is still a whole day…." I stutter. I promised, I promised Peeta. Haymitch shakes his head.  
  
"You can't. I'll tell him you sprained your ankle or something so wrap it up in some bandages and pretend to be in pain. He will probably visit you in the evening. I will come back as soon as I can."

Haymitch hesitates in mid-step on the way out. Seems uncertain if he should really leave me alone. Then he walks me over to the kitchen and makes me call Dr. Aurelius. Only when I start to talk to the Doctor does Haymitch leave the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, that Gale. Will he show up again in this story? Uhhhmm.... I'm sorry, Everthorne shippers. I think I made it pretty obvious from the start that the relationship was doomed, but if you wished for an Everthorne ending, I apologize. I think I warned you three times already, but chapter 6 won't be for the faint hearted. For Katniss, this one was probably one of the hardest, but the next one won't be easy on her either. For Peeta, I swear, I love the character. That won't mean he is getting the easy way out here. Quite the opposite. So be aware, Peeta fans.


	6. Sender: High Court of the United Districts of Panem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can't stand to see Peeta in pain, stop reading. The Red Letter Box is a dark story, not canon compliant and what happens in this chapter is violent, painful and not for the squeamish or faint hearted.
> 
> Read the tags and pay attention to which tags are included, because I really do mean them. They are not there for fun. They basically tell you all you need to know for this chapter.

"How are you this morning, Katniss?"  
  
Sighing I start to play with the edge of the kitchen tablecloth. Every morning and evening I have a short phone treatment with Dr. Aurelius. The evening of the Summer Festival is a distant memory, but in reality it only happened a few weeks ago. Dr. Aurelius visited me in Twelve shortly after. Haymitch and me met him at the train station, helping him get settled in the small station hotel. The Doctor told me on the phone that he needed to see his patients face to face from time to time only two days prior. Peeta looked unhappy when he saw Dr. Aurelius in Twelve and avoided him when he tried to have a session with him in the afternoon, ignoring the knocking on his house's door in the Victor's Village. Dr. Aurelius doesn't talk about Peeta's therapy with me, but he seemed angry and concerned about Peeta's avoidance tactics. I could tell the Doctor a thing or two about the Peeta who doesn't want to be seen, as I have a lot of experience with him. He became better at hiding, but I'm excellent at reading his tracks and he conspicuously fled to the bakery through the back door of his kitchen.  
  
Only Haymitch and me know the actual reason why Dr. Aurelius came. He spent the whole weekend with me and he made me talk so much that my voice got scratchy at the end of the day. I didn't try to hide anything from him. I told him the truth about all my emotions, my fears, my hidden anger. Therapy only works if the patient wants to change their life for the better. I want help, no - I need help. I never admitted that to others or even myself until the fireworks. I've been so adamant on facing my problems alone that I could not see that it was impossible for me. No one can live through what I lived through without coming out of it broken. I only hope that I'll be able to build myself together again. It'll be a long way, but I got to try.  
  
Not only for myself, but also for Haymitch, who loves me like a daughter. For my mother, who I grudgingly admit still cares for me, for Gale who I hurt with my selfish actions born out of desperation and depression.  
  
But most of all I want to change and become stronger for Peeta. Peeta who doesn't deserve the hate I inflicted on him, because he's been through so much and I was too caught up in my own pain to see his. Dr. Aurelius told me all about depression and how it changes the way you think. That you don't see others. About that numbness, about being unable to feel. Whether it is grief and sadness, or joy and happiness. You lose the ability to feel and you become self absorbed, deeply depressed and I never faced that until the evening of the Summer Festival.  
  
"I'm okay," I answer his question after a short pause.  
  
"Do you want to take pills today?" he asks, his voice neutral. Dr. Aurelius was not happy with my mother and Haymitch. He had no idea about the pills and they interfered with his own therapy plan for me. I pretended to feel good and took pills on the sidelines. It didn't matter that they weren't the real deal, Dr. Aurelius said. Even placebos have the power to destroy you, which I learned when I started to hallucinate about Snow and bombs.  
  
"No," I answer honestly. "I don't. I feel better. I hunted earlier this morning and that made me feel relaxed. The woods make me happy. I started humming and before I could stop myself I started singing. I haven't sung for years. It was an elating feeling."  
  
"Sounds good," replies the Doctor. "Why don't you join the District 12 choir? You will be able to socialize with people and you can do something you love."  
  
"District 12 has a choir?" I ask, dumbfounded.  
  
"If not, you simply have to found one. I think you won't have to worry about finding people who'd like to sing with you. District 12 loves you, Katniss. You're special to the people there, they are proud of you. I got this feeling when I visited. You don't have to be afraid of them, they are all willing to protect you. If you do something with the community it'll do you good."  
  
A lump forms in my throat. District 12 loves me. Dr. Aurelius got that feeling when he was only here for a short time. It is true, and there is a warmness when I walk through the streets. Everyone smiles at me, people greet me and they all seem happy when I greet them back. I never thought a simple greeting of mine could transform people's faces like that. I slowly start to realize that the effect I have on people, the effect Peeta told me about in the Capitol, is really there. Still there. Even though I see myself as a broken wreck, District 12 doesn't. I'm their heroine, and I have to give back to these people.  
  
"I'll do it," I decide, "I'll found a choir." Giddiness overcomes me. In my mind I already list a couple of famous Twelve songs we can sing. Another festival, the Harvest Festival is coming up soon. Maybe we can even have our first performance there?  
  
We talk some more and after the hour is up I thank Dr. Aurelius and want to hang up the phone, when he clears his throat. It seems that he has something more to add so I hang on.  
  
"Katniss, I must say that I'm pleased. You're making good progress and I wish you had confided in me earlier. Actually, I wouldn't tell you this under normal circumstances but I have a request. You are in regular contact with Peeta, right?"  
  
"Yes, we meet for dinner every Friday, together with Haymitch," I confirm haltingly.  
  
I'm hesitant because Peeta's behavior towards me changed after the Summer Festival. He came to visit me in the evening as Haymitch predicted, concerned about my strained ankle, angry that I didn't call him in the bakery. He seemed fidgety in my house and then told me it wasn't necessary that I come back to the bakery. Wanting to protest I thought better of it. He brought me the books the next day and allowed me to make changes to his prices. When I gave him back the books, I tried to hint that I wanted to help him out again with sales, he was short clipped with me and didn't look that enthusiastic about it. He still seemed concerned about my ankle, but that was it.  
  
Friday evening I finally turned on the television again, while dinner was simmering on the stove. Some official Capitol grand court jurors told the press about my trial and that I was to stay in District 12 forever. A big envelope with exactly the same words lies on the table in my study right now. Sender was the High Court of the United District of Panem. I got exactly 154 pages of notes from the trial. Only after it is over the court sent those notes. I started to read but as soon as I read about certain witnesses demanding my execution I had to stop. I'm not sure if I'll ever touch the notes again, or if I should even keep them or let them have a meeting with my good, old fireplace.  
  
I was still watching the program, which also included several shots of me during the Hunger Games and the rebellion, when Peeta and Haymitch arrived at my door. Both of them silently joined me on the sofa, but didn't comment much.  
  
After I switched off the TV Peeta gave me a long look, I couldn't decipher and said, "I'm sorry, Katniss. I know you had plans to move in with Gale."  
  
I swallowed and allowed myself one short second of grief for the chance of a new start. I smiled at him and answered that it was okay. I had to tell Peeta that I wasn't with Gale anymore as it seemed weird for me to not tell him, unfair to let him believe that we're still a couple. Our old mentor beat me to it.  
  
"They are not together anymore, Peeta" he said, interrupting my preparation of delivering the news myself. "Gale broke up with Katniss because he couldn't stand the thought of living his life in District 12 instead of working for that fancy new government. Can you believe that?" Haymitch shook his head, grumbling into his beard.  
  
Glaring at Haymitch I fiddled with my hair. He told Peeta the truth. Or what he believed to be the truth. I wanted to tell Peeta without Haymitch listening, wanted to explain that there was more to the break up than just Gale refusing to move. But that was impossible now. And wouldn't I be lying to Peeta if I told him that? Wouldn't I still be with Gale if the trial hadn't happened, if he hadn't broken up with me?  
  
Peeta's eyes were blank. He didn't seem overly surprised. Didn't look happy, nor did he look sad. He pressed his lips into a thin line, glancing through the room, eyes stopping at the grandfather clock in the corner.  
  
"Peeta?" Haymitch asked, concerned at this non-reaction.  
  
"Weirdly enough, I certainly can," he said calmly after a few moments, holding Haymitch's gaze.  
  
Looking at me he seemed to soften a bit and then, "I don't know what to say to you. I know, words are supposed to be my strength, but right now I just don't know what to say."  
  
"That's okay," I answered quietly. I still don't know what I had expected of Peeta. To say how sorry he was that my relationship with Gale didn't work out? That might've been a lie, and maybe he didn't want to lie? But then he didn't seem happy about it either, or maybe he didn't want to show it? His reaction still confused me and I exchanged glances with Haymitch over dinner. It was weird. Once more I arrived at a point where I had no idea what Peeta was thinking, and once more he didn't seem to want to talk about it. I'm not good at reading people. And I certainly got worse at reading Peeta.  
  
I remember imagining that Peeta still loved me back when he told me he wanted to be with me at the festival. I felt myself melting a bit at the thought, and even though I pretended that it didn't make me happy it still did. How much of that was wishful thinking on my side? Why did Peeta want to be friends with me again? Our interactions restarted when I visited the bakery, shortly after I got together with Gale. Did that rekindled interest in me had to do something with Gale?  
  
Unwillingly an image of the old shoebox builds up in front of me. I know that the key, the answer to a lot of questions is probably to be found in his letters. Utterly confused about Peeta's actions, I start to rip into the tablecloth repeatedly.  
  
"Is it okay if I ask you to talk to Peeta for me, Katniss?" Dr. Aurelius' voice brings me back from my thoughts and I shake my head to get back to the moment.  
  
"Why?" I manage to press out.  
  
"Because I can not pretend to be treating him when he hasn't spoken to me in weeks," Dr. Aurelius says matter of factly. That's familiar. It's exactly the reverse situation to when Peeta came back from the Capitol.  
  
"This is important, Katniss. Peeta has been very reluctant about therapy for years, but occasionally still called me. A few weeks ago he simply stopped answering the phone. He isn't healed.  Please ask him to call. I should have been more insistent about talking to him when I was in Twelve, but my main concern was you at that weekend. Peeta will need therapy all his life, and he knows this. He can't simply disengage and start to run away if things don't go the way he wants them to."  
  
This information takes me by surprise. Peeta is not talking to Dr. Aurelius? And he has been reluctant about therapy for years! I got a feeling I know when he started to get sloppy with his sessions, and Dr. Aurelius obviously does as well. I would bet it began somewhere around the time that I killed a certain furry animal with a shot gun in front of my house.  
  
"Please, when you see him the next time tell him to call me. Insist on it. And if you do see him again after, ask him if he did call me. Involve Mr. Abernathy in this. Can you do that for me?"  
  
Agreeing to his plan, I hang up the phone.  
  
I walk over to my desk in the sitting room and continue writing a letter to Gale, which I started a few days ago. While Gale never called back after that evening, he wrote me a letter. He explained how sorry he was about how our relationship went to the drains and that I'll always be special to him, always stay his Catnip. He apologized for calling me selfish and was generally very sweet in it. He wrote he wants to stay friends, and I agree. There hadn't been much honesty between the two of us. We got lost in each other and the physical contact, ignoring that we were not attuned to the others needs and both of us still had other things dominating our minds. He refused to see my depression while he had several things going on in District 2 and the Capitol that he didn't inform me about. He told me coming back to me was like returning to a time when things were less complicated in his life. Being with me was as much an escape for him as well. We used each other and I deeply regret how I treated him. I never wanted to hurt Gale, but in the end I hadn't been ready to have a relationship, hadn't been in a good place at all. I regret that my first experiences in romance with Peeta were built on lies and that my first real adult relationship with Gale wasn't a healthy and happy one, even though I deeply cared for him.  
  
Gale is older, more secure and experienced. It is doubtful that this will leave long lasting emotional scars on him. I destroyed something special for myself with entering the relationship utterly unprepared. I had been fairly innocent and regret that my awakening sexuality happened parallel to the desire to just simply feel something - _anything_ \- at all. It didn't happen out of love, like it should. I wonder if I shattered something, irrecoverably ruined it for all eternity. Back then I thought that losing my virginity wasn't a big deal, I even thought it was a bit of a joke, the way everyone fussed about it. But it didn't leave me as unimpressed as I had intended. I shrugged it off as something small, but was it really that insignificant? These thoughts are so intimate I haven't discussed them with Dr. Aurelius. It's hard to even think about sex and my body and what happened. But talking about it with a Doctor? I'm not ready for this.  
  
Gale was sweet with me, patient, kind and loving. There had been issues, however, things off from the beginning. I couldn't let go when we were together. I seldom reached the peak. I enjoyed having sex, I'm a woman of twenty one, and from all the talk I listened to, I think that's natural, and I'm not ashamed about feeling lust, having needs. But some part of me had always been tense, slightly cramped. I felt the desire to please Gale, to make him happy in bed so he wouldn't leave. I never felt like I wanted to make him happy because it turned me on as well. Wondering if I'll ever be able to feel genuine love and passion with someone, I stop writing the letter in mid-motion.  
  
I know who I want, who I always wanted. Who I wanted to be my first. Who I waited for, hoping against hope that he would get better. Tears drop down my face as I stand up from my desk.  
  
I can't undo our past, I can't change the fact that I slept with Gale without being in love with him. I can't change the fact that Peeta pushed me away, destroyed what was slowly starting to grow between us and I let him. I can't change the last three years. What has happened, has happened.  
  
There is only one thing I have influence on. The future. I refuse to look away, like I did before. Ignoring the problem and hiding behind my own insecurities made me built up a wall of anger and resentment, which I directed at Peeta. Peeta is the one who needs my help now, and has been for a long time. I don't care one bit if he wants it or not. Dr. Aurelius was clear about it. Today I make a resolution to fight for Peeta. It's not about me. I'm not sure Peeta would even want to be with me after everything and we're certainly not in the best place to consider a relationship. But I can help him get better. I can help him return to himself.  
  
I'll become the girl on fire again, only for him. My boy with the bread.

 

* * *

  
  
After deciding that Peeta must call Dr. Aurelius and restart his treatment I waste little time. After my routine check of the snares I walk to the bakery on that very day, mapping out the words I'm going to say in my mind. It is hot while we're already deep into September, the leaves of my woods verdant still. The journey to the bakery only takes ten minutes. I'm practically flying there, not able to waste another minute. So much time has been wasted already.  
  
Shock registers on Peeta's features when I enter the shop, and his blue eyes meet mine for a short second. The queue of customers is long and he looks stressed, eyes red, face sweaty. This certainly is not the best moment to talk to him, he is busy. The door opens behind me and another customer, a blond young man appears, carrying a basket. I'd recognize that face anywhere. Drew Cartwright is Delly's younger brother. While Delly didn't return to Twelve, her brother did. He is as friendly as his sister and his face lights up into a smile immediately.  
  
"Hello Katniss," he greets, chipper as always.  
  
"Hi Drew," I say, smiling slightly. "How's the shop?"  
  
"Great! We just got the newest winter boots collection from the Capitol, why don't you come…"  
  
But he can't continue because his attention turns to Peeta who is screaming at the customer in front of him, a middle aged woman who looks strangely similar to the late Mrs. Mellark.  
  
"If you don't like my bread, _missy_ ," he hisses, voice cutting "why don't you go to the other guy? Why not? Do you think I'm some stupid creature? I know you all like him better, anyway."  
  
I stare at him. What is that? The mood in the shop changes immediately and all the customers turn around, leaving hurriedly. It seems almost rehearsed, the way everyone suddenly shuffles out of the shop. I want to go to Peeta but Drew takes me by the arm and pulls me out to the street as well. His expression is one of disturbance while Peeta is ranting behind the counter. I catch the word _fuck_ , and the name _Henry Walner_ through the sound of the tingling door bell. Peeta never swears.  
  
"Let's go, Katniss" Drew says and I get the feeling he tries to protect me from something. I don't want to go, but let him take me to his shop a few houses down the street. We enter the small area in the back where Drew prepares a cup of tea for me.  
  
"Do you want sugar in your tea?" he asks innocently, but I'm not interested.  
  
"Why did you pull me away from the bakery, Drew?" I inquire. I need answers, and he seems to have them.  
  
"I didn't want you to feel bad."  
  
"What?"  
  
"When Mr. Mellark gets angry it is better to leave him alone" Drew sighs.

"I usually go to Mellark's, and when Cora was still working there….." His cheeks turn pink and he gets that dreamy look on his face. Many boys had a crush on Coraline. She was certainly a young man's wet dream. Pretty busty.  
  
"But when he gets like this….I can handle his moods, because I know him from before. Other customers are not used to it and even though the bread is not as good they do prefer to go to Walner's."  
  
I swallow. So, it wasn't only because of me. I wasn't the only reason that people ignored Peeta. Peeta is rude to his customers. That's why they went to the other bakery. Nobody complained when I worked at Mellark's before the festival. Does Haymitch know? Peeta seemed back to his old ways, sweet and kind at the festival. When he was interacting with the customers he was friendly. The usual Peeta. I always wondered why Peeta didn't start to have some friends around him again. Most of the old ones are dead, but that someone as funny and nice as Peeta wasn't popular, is a concept I hardly get my head around. It's almost like in Thirteen. When everyone thought him a traitor at first, and crazy later.  
  
"He hasn't been this…way for some time," Drew continues. "I think he is stressed out again. The work is too much for Mr. Mellark."  
  
Drew knows Peeta since they were children. I find it incredibly strange that he is calling him Mr. Mellark. I remember the sisters at the festival. They invited me. They didn't invite Peeta. Only when I hesitated, tried to catch Peeta's gaze did they address him. I get the feeling that some kids are scared of Peeta, and that - in turn - scares me.  
  
All the anger, all the hate of the hijacking was always directed at me. He was fear conditioned into thinking of me as a mutt, seeing me as a threat to his life. It was clear cut.  
  
Peeta hates Katniss.  
  
Never other people. Never his customers. Never an innocent boy like Drew. What has happened to Peeta? One thing is for sure. He made a mistake turning his back on me. He made a huge mistake stopping his treatment with Dr. Aurelius. What I see now are the consequences of these decisions. He's turning into someone he is not.  
  
I need to know more about this new, or maybe not so new side of Peeta and think Drew will be honest with me. The boy must have been aware of the hijacking. His sister had been involved in Peeta's episodes, she surely talked about it, as this is a family that doesn't keep secrets.  
  
"Drew," I begin, unsure how to formulate this. "Can you tell me more about this? You said, it happened before?"  
  
Drew's eyes start to flinch to the door. Knowing I make the poor boy uncomfortable is hard for me. I've never been one to make others uncomfortable, it's always been the reverse situation. Drew nods slowly though.  
  
"When did this happen? It seemed like a regular occurrence, the way people left the shop."  
  
"Yes, it happened several times before, but to be honest, I myself have only seen it once…and….it scared the customers who went to the shop that day quite a bit. I think I'm the only one who returned."  
  
"Oh," I say and wait. Afraid of what Drew might tell me.  
  
"It was around springtime this year, April almost May, I think. You remember that the weather was unusually warm for a few days? Quite a few people went shopping that day and I ran over to the bakery to get a quick lunch, it was so busy."  
  
My stomach sinks. April. I remember those days. Four days at the end of April when the weather had been quite lovely and….please no….  
  
"When I was in the shop there was already a long queue of people, pretty similar to the one today. Mr. Mellark was rotating like mad. He seemed to have lost control over his tasks. Bread in the oven, sales….he looked bad, Katniss. Worse than I've seen him before. Which is strange, because I had been there just a day earlier. He had been joking, was friendly. He made marble cake that day and every customer got a piece for free with their purchase."  
  
Drew takes another sip of his tea and I feel a drop of sweat running down my back. Why is it so hot in here?  
  
"He went to the back to get some bread and then something crashed. I don't know what. The bakery was silent for a few seconds and then all hell broke loose. I don't really know why but Mr. Mellark crashed all of his working equipment. Glass shattering, bowls breaking…it was like a wounded animal was caught in there, unable to get out, trying to destroy their surroundings in panic."  
  
I stare at Drew. Peeta, sweet, gentle Peeta, creating a storm of violence in his beloved bakery? Was that an episode, a flashback to his torture? Or was it because of me? But I hadn't been there. What had been his trigger? I gnaw at my lower lip when I see Drew standing up, obviously trying to get me out of his shop now.  
  
"Wait a minute," I say and he flinches. "There is more, isn't there?"  
  
"Katniss…."  
  
"Please, please tell me." I urge.  "Did he say something?"  
  
"He screamed a few cursing words…obscenities. I'm not sure I heard everything correctly, he mumbled…. about…well, about…..people…..flaunting their preferences…people….preferring someone else. A bit similar to what you heard him say about Henry today. I'm sorry, I have to get back to work, Katniss. It's getting late."  
  
Drew now clearly wants me gone, but I'm persistent. I'm scared, scared that I know exactly what this was all about. But I have to know, haven't I? What obscenities he was screaming, who these _people_ are, who that _someone else_ is.  
  
"Drew, you got to tell me. People preferring _who_?"  
  
Delly's brother is sweating slightly, wipes his forehead with his sleeve.  
  
"Don't make me, please. This will hurt you."  
  
I start to shake. So this is about me, as I feared. Did Haymitch know about Peeta's outbreaks? I wonder why he kept me in the dark. Was he afraid that I wouldn't want to see Peeta, stop our dinners if I'd known what seems to be an open secret to the whole District?  
  
_'They love you, they are protective of you.'_ Dr. Aurelius words ring soundly in a back corner of my mind. District 12, the place I thought I hated so much, the people that annoyed me, that I wanted to leave behind. In truth they always looked out for me.  
  
Drew murmurs to himself, his head is so red now, it looks similar to a tomato. I've seen a lot of people looking uncomfortable, but this is a whole new level, so I take pity on him "You don't have to repeat the actual words, Drew. Please just tell me who he was talking about. It wasn't about Henry, right?"  
  
"No," he shakes his head and then presses out what I already know to be true. "He was insulting you…..you and….."  
  
Inwardly I scream when Drew says the name.  
  
"Gale Hawthorne."  
  
Outwardly a lone tear rolls down my cheek.

 

* * *

  
  
Water is pouring from the skies in buckets as I return to the Victor's Village shortly before midday, two days after my talk with Drew. It seems that fall has finally arrived in District 12. I couldn't bring myself to confront Peeta since then. I returned to the bakery and he seemed his usual self, even sold me a bunch of freshly made cheese buns. I don't know how to move forward now that I know about Peeta's…. tantrums? Episodes? I don't even know what to call them. Should I talk to Haymitch about what Drew told me? Should I call Dr. Aurelius? Confusion and fear take turns in tormenting my thoughts, I'm getting easily distracted during my hunts. I could barely sleep, tossing and turning around. But it wasn't the nightmares this time round that kept me awake. What is the right thing to do in this situation? My heart tells me to talk to Peeta, to confront him. The idea of talking to him about it though makes me want to flee into the woods. Peeta might just decide to turn his back on me again.  
  
_'I don't want to see you, go away!'_  
_'I have no time to hold your hand. Listening to your whining gives me a headache, so would you please leave and let me do my job?'_  
_'Why do you insist on coming here every day? Stop bothering me, Katniss.'_  
  
Some of his words hurt more, some less. But each time he told me to leave him alone, I felt more discouraged, my heart cracking time and again until I couldn't stand to seek him out anymore. I didn't know how to react, didn't know what to tell him so I could change his mind. Did I even had the right to change his mind? Can I stand to hear these words again? Can I live with him breaking our friendship for a second time?  
  
Besides the steady pitter patter of the rain I hear a muted melody playing on the radio from Haymitch's workshop. I quickly enter Peeta's house through the back door, as usual. I collected some boar steak the butcher prepared for me, one of my latest conquests. Peeta knows a great recipe for boar and it is his turn for dinner so I thought I would leave it in his kitchen, before I go back in to the woods to collect the rest of this year's last raspberries. A faint scent of cinnamon and dill enters my nose and I forget my worries, feeling refreshed instantly. The house smells like Peeta.  
  
My padded feet are silent, hunter instincts still working. There is a grocery list with ingredients on Peeta's fridge, carefully written. His handwriting is still a bit clumsy and reminds me of our early school days. Peeta once told me that he had problems with learning to write neatly at school. I don't remember much about our time at school together but he told me that he needed his parents help and his mother had hit his fingers with a ruler when his grades didn't meet her standards. Which made it worse. Mrs. Mellark didn't seem to be a good pedagogue either. Maybe I could help Peeta a bit with his calligraphy? Shaking my head, I know it won't happen anytime in the near future. That would entail that our hands touch. I'm not sure he would want that, who knows what he would do if I come near him? Frowning, I lift the paper list and quickly push the magnet back in its original position. It might very well be that Peeta will never want my touch again. Ever. This thought is unbearable. I have no right to touch him, and still……  
  
I'd like to touch him again, craving human contact and I always liked Peeta's hands. His beautiful fingers, so long and strong. They aren't thick, they always looked graceful to me. Sighing I put down the meat on his working plate. I'm soaking wet, dripping on Peeta's kitchen floor. I only dressed in some flimsy T-Shirt because it was still slightly warm until a few hours ago, when the downpour surprised me in the woods. The coldness transformed my nipples into two small nubs pressing against the fabric. My teeth chatter slightly. Longingly I think of a nice hot bath and turn around to leave.  
  
A small, barely audible noise makes me hesitate. What is this? Peeta should be at the bakery. Who is making that noise? I really don't want to go into the sitting room or upstairs. That would be invading Peeta's privacy more than a quick visit to the kitchen. Maybe he has some paintings in the house he wouldn't want me to see.  
  
Then I hear a creak. What if a marten broke into the house? Or some bird went through the open window destroying Peeta's furniture? I should go for a short investigation.  
  
I walk to the door and into the hall. The layout of Peeta's house is like mine only inverted. The door to the sitting room is open. Faint light falls through the curtained windows, the rain still pouring on. Peeta is sitting on the sofa directly in my field of vision when I enter. His eyes are closed and his prosthetic leg is not attached to his stump, lying forgotten on the floor. He is wearing a soft grey pajama, similar to the ones I saw him wear on the train of the Victory Tour. Probably some Portia creation.  
  
The pajama shirt is open and his pants are down. Heat is rising up my cheeks. What is this? Why is he here in the middle of the day? He groans and against my will my eyes fly - _there_. Peeta is pleasuring himself with long, sensual strokes. I can see his nipples perking up looking slightly pinkish. His chest hair is vast and lightly blond. It goes down his belly in a fine line and where it becomes darker it also is bushier. I see him tugging on his penis, his balls slapping against his right hand. He is smiling slightly while he is gripping onto a blanket with the other hand.  
  
A wave of hotness is rushing to my head as his rhythm becomes more frantic. I stare at his hand, hypnotized by his well-timed, experienced stroking. I can clearly see his silky yet steely penis being worked on by his graceful hand. I never saw Peeta sexually aroused like this. His face relaxed, no hint of stress, looking almost angelic. Another moan leaves his moistened lips and all at once an unknown, strong need trickles down my spine. There is the biggest emptiness between my legs. My nipples start to harden more, mirroring his and it has nothing to do with the chilly weather. His body seems to sing a song and mine wants to join the chorus. I want him close, I want to kiss him, I want him to fill me up. I lick my own lips in response before I finally realize that he would _not_ , in no way, want _me_ of all people, witness him doing this.  
  
_'You have to leave before he sees you!'_ is all I can think. I don't want to embarrass Peeta. I would die of shame if he would catch me masturbating. The thought alone brings me another heat wave, I can't help but remember how I touch myself when thinking of Peeta.  
  
"Katniss," he sighs sweetly. My name on his lips sounds happy, free. Simply beautiful.  
  
"Peeta," I whimper in response, unintentionally. That came like an instinct. I couldn't help it and moaned his name.  
  
Peeta's eyelids shoot open meeting my gaze directly. The soft rosy tint that graced his cheeks just a moment ago turns into a deep flushing red. Peeta is too far gone he can't stop his orgasm anymore. He clamps his mouth shut, eyes pleading and erupts.

* * *

  
  
Outside the rain keeps on falling. I want to flee, but it's like I'm glued to the spot at the entrance of the room. Staring mesmerized at the pearly liquid dripping on Peeta's sitting room table, the whole world is on stand still. The moment is surreal, like I'm watching it play out in slow-motion on television, like it is happening to a pair of strangers in a movie.  
  
"Hi there Katniss, nice of you to visit," I look back up at Peeta, confused at him managing to talk in such a casual tone after what just transpired. I meet his eyes and feel a cold shudder run down my spine as every trace of arousal leaves me.  
  
His pupils are dilating.  
  
"I hope you've been watching for a while. Did you know that I always do this in the morning? Well, not only in the morning, if I didn't have work to do, I would never stop. Don't look at me like this, Sweetheart! It relaxes me, what can you do?" he grins and continues to touch himself. He puts his left arm over the back of the sofa, as if he is sitting on a bench in the town square on a sunny sunday, relaxing after a nice afternoon walk.  
  
"Since you're here, why won't you watch me a bit more? Do you remember when we were scrawny kids? Too young to know anything really? Even back then, when I touched myself and I didn't know why I even did touch myself at all only one thought was dominating my mind. Katniss Everdeen. _Always_."  
  
He doesn't stop pulling and I cringe at that. Gale was always so sensitive after coming that he couldn't stand me touching him shortly after. I assumed every man felt that way. Pain graces Peeta's feature as he continues and then it hits me. He feels that way, too. Is hurting himself on purpose. I step closer to make him stop.  
  
"Peeta, stop," I plead.  
  
"I've been thinking about you, night and day, every minute of my damned existence. First at the bakery, then at school, in my room at my parent's house, during the Games, on the train of the Victory Tour, the Quell, the Prison in the Capitol, Thirteen, everywhere.  About your eyes, your lips, your hair, your breasts, your legs, your scent. How? Why? Why doesn't it ever stop? After all these years, all that you've been putting me through, I should have had enough long ago. But you control my mind, Katniss. And here I am jerking off, dreaming of you. _Always_."  
  
I wish he would stop saying that word. _Always_. A word that means so much to me, that helped me through the nightmares, through the horrors of District 13. Through the days when I thought I couldn't hold on to life anymore. It feels like he is deliberately tainting its meaning, its power, its love.  
  
Looking down at his penis, its head is purple as far as I can see. His hardness is long gone, but he keeps stretching it, almost brutally.  
  
"Peeta, please just stop this now, okay? Just stop it!" This whole situation is so weird and not at least erotic. Hearing these words out of Peeta's mouth is creepy. We never talked about sex and now this! I feel like I am in some sort of perverse hidden-camera show.  
  
"Since I first realized what happens between a couple I always wanted that with you. That was my biggest wish. Me and you, Katniss. Make you mine. Be your lover. It could be perfect. The two of us together. A real romance," he continues in a pleasant voice.  If he did hear what I said, he shows no signs of it.    
  
"No," I say. "No, no, no!"  
  
"Marry, have a family! I wanted to have children with you one day."  
  
His tone turns flat, harsh.  
  
"I am such an idiot!" he punctuates the word idiot by pulling even harder.  
  
Knowing I cannot watch him do this any longer, have to stop him hurting himself even if it means I have to touch him, rip his arm away with all the strength I have, I begin to move towards him. The gleam in his eyes changes.

It is only a millisecond, but I see a flash of that look he had when he tried to kill me in Thirteen.

His pupils change back to normal again and what happens next seems unreal in hindsight. Peeta has reached his limit and when I make a move to get closer, he grabs onto his testicles with his dominant hand and squeezes hard. A sick, crushing sound can be heard. What he is doing to his own genitals is so brutal and horrifying that I start screaming, screaming louder than I ever did before. The only sound that leaves Peeta however, is that of a dying animal as his other hand leaves the sofa. He goes down, tumbles over into a crouching position and starts to wail. I feel like my head is going to explode. I run out of the house into the rain and throw up on the pavement.  
  
_'You cannot leave him there like this!'_ I think, still vomiting, dizzy with pain, sick running down my chin. I pull myself up and run as fast as I can to Haymitch's workshop. He is working on some sort of cupboard and has his back to me when I barge into the room. I grab onto his shirt, pull him around and scream at him, "Haymitch, you've got to help Peeta. Come fast, please Haymitch!"  
  
Haymitch looks surprised but turns pale when he sees the state I'm in. But he springs into action immediately and follows me to Peeta's house.  
  
"What the hell happened?" he looks confused.  
  
"You've got to help him, Haymitch." Tears, raindrops and snot from my nose create a disgusting mixture on my face. "He hurt himself," I sob.  
  
When we reenter the house Peeta is still lying on the sofa in that same curled up position and making those horrible sounds holding his front now with both hands. Haymitch looks as shocked as I feel and then grabs my shoulder "Did you call Dr. Leger? You have to call her now!" I jump, cursing the fact that I didn't think of this sooner. Haymitch goes over to Peeta and starts talking to him in soothing tones as I run to the telephone which is located in the entrance hall and call Dr. Leger, who thankfully picks up right away. I tell her that Peeta is injured and she needs to come over quickly. Hanging up, thinking of what to do next I start to pace around. Why must I be so helpless in these situations? It's like when Gale had been whipped, I'm a useless mess. Peeta doesn't have a freezer, there is no ice in the house. Would ice even be good now? Staring out of the window I leave the house once more, running into the direction of the town, looking for Dr. Leger. If only my mother would be here now. She would have been with Peeta immediately. I am scared, scared and panicked and when I finally see the Doctor running on the street in front of me I sprint to her and tell her what happened.  
  
We're almost back in the Victor's Village when she grabs my arm and stops me. "Miss Everdeen, listen to me. You need to go to my practice and call the big hospital in Four. Tell them I sent you but it will also probably help if you say who you are and that Peeta Mellark is injured. They sent hovercrafts for these kind of emergencies, but not always. Use your fame. Do it now!"  
  
"But Peeta...." I want to go with her, make sure he is okay. I can't just leave like this. "No, Miss Everdeen," she says gently but firmly, "please, just stay there until the hovercraft arrives. It'll be better this way, trust me." She turns around and runs to Peeta's house while I make my way to the practice to do as she told me.

* * *

  
  
I watch silently as the Hovercraft Number Three, belonging to the Greater Panem Hospital disappears into the misty sky over the Victor's Village. I stayed behind in Ermengarde Legers practice until I heard the sounds of the vehicle arriving. It's only been half an hour since I called the hospital. Fortunately a hovercraft had been on the way from District 13 to District 2 and they stopped here to pick Peeta up. It's still raining and even though I can't seem to see through the clouds and the sounds of the hovercraft have entirely stilled I continue to stare after the hole in the clouds, where it disappeared. My teeth are chattering. When I ran back to the Victor's Village I only saw Haymitch carrying Peeta, lifting him into the arms of a paramedic, following them inside. He climbed out of it a few minutes later and now he and Ermengarde Leger stand beside me. Haymitch has an unreadable expression on his face and Ermengarde Leger looks worried. After a while Haymitch turns around and looks at me. My eyes grow large.  
  
Haymitch has always been handsome. He has that rugged Seam look, similar to Gale and even after years of alcohol abuse, he had a certain charming air about him. It is like a miracle but those last few years it seems like he looked younger instead of growing older. On this misty, rainy summer day Haymitch looks his age again. He looks pale and sick. His eyes turn into slits when they meet mine, his expression hard, a mixture of disgust, anger and something else. Pity?  
  
Ermengarde Leger puts her hands on his arms and it seems like a bit of tension leaves him at her tender gesture.  
  
He turns around and tells me coldly "We have to talk, Katniss." Starts to walk towards my house, not his or Peeta's, without looking back to see if I'm following.  
  
Wincing at the contact of Ermengarde Legers hand on my back, she gently pushes me after him. Stumbling I can't help but think that after all this time - it does seem like I'm no longer Haymitch's sweetheart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What the...?


	7. Sender: Dr. Marcos Aurelius

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello? Anyone? If you are still with me, thanks for staying! I know this ain't fluffy and happy Everlark and I'm extremely thankful for the support you guys left after that hard last chapter. I'm so grateful for having such nice readers who leave feedback and kudos on TRLB. Please enjoy Chapter 7, Sender: Dr. Marcos Aurelius.

Haymitch already sits on a chair at my kitchen table, when I enter the house through the back door. Ermengarde Leger follows behind me, although I didn't invite her in. She seems unfazed and sits down beside Haymitch while I drop down on the chair opposite to them.  
  
For a short moment both Haymitch and me look at each other. Then he shakes his head.  
  
"What did you do?" he asks reproachfully.  
  
Feeling my anger rising, I cross my arms in front of me and reply, "What did I do? Nothing! I mean, what do you think I did?"  
  
I throw a short glance at Ermengarde Leger. This is dangerous territory. Embarrassing territory. We're talking about deeply intimate issues here. I know that the Doctor is Haymitch's girlfriend or lover or whatever he wants to call it. And she has treated Peeta, has seen what he has done. All the while I'm not sure I want her around right now, Doctor or not. I love Haymitch, but even discussing what happened with him alone is hard. A stranger at this table makes it unbearable for me. Dr. Leger catches my glances at her and gives me what she perhaps thinks is a reassuring smile. It simply looks awkward to me.  
  
"How is Peeta, is he going to be okay?" I address the question to her. If she's insisting on being here, she should tell me what happened after I left.  
  
"He is not in a life threatening situation, if that's what you're concerned about. Physically it will take some time to get over the immediate pain, but he should heal."  
  
Her voice is kind and soft. She is probably a good doctor. Maybe I can trust her?  
  
"What we don't know is if there is any internal damage. They will check that in the hospital. The genitalia is the most vulnerable part of the male body. In the worst case his testicles could be ruptured, resulting in sterilization."  
  
Another wave of nausea threatens to hit me. Sterilization? Meaning he won't be able to father children? Peeta wants children. With me.  
  
_'Marry, have a family. I wanted to have children with you one day.'_  
  
It can't be. These were Peeta's words. He told me, that was the last thing he told me before….  
  
He deserves a child of his own. He didn't survive all this to see his dream, his wishes of a future smashed. I can't stand the thought, I can't believe that he basically destroyed this for himself in front of my eyes. I should never went into that freaking sitting room. And then I should've turned and ran when he realized I was there. Instead I stood there and let him get into an episode. I should've done something. Hit him or kiss him, I don't know. His leg had been unattached, so him attacking me was out of the question.  
  
Understanding Haymitch's anger now, my old friend guilt creeps up on me. Am I responsible for what Peeta did? Would he have done it, if I hadn't caught him? My eyes fill with tears. A pathetic, painful sob escapes me.  
  
"Shh, Miss Everdeen," she soothingly adds. " That's the worst case scenario. As far as I could see, he didn't pass out which is good, however we can't know for sure, until he is tested. It's actually his mental state that is our biggest cause for concern. He is unstable and he needs treatment. Which he will receive, be assured. I informed Dr. Aurelius who is on his way to meet Mr. Mellark in the hospital."  
  
I nod, but I'm not relieved. It's still possible. Peeta might be infertile. He might never be a father. Even if I'm not the mother of his children, wasn't that the future I tried so hard to protect? A place where his child could be free, could be happy?  
  
Haymitch's voice is a bit softened when he interrupts my thoughts.  
  
"Katniss, really, please tell me what happened. What were you doing in his house?"  
  
"I went there to drop of some meat from the butcher's. I didn't think... I mean, it's midday why was he even home?"  
  
Haymitch ignores my question.  
  
"You, both of you, are like the kids I never had. I care for you, you know that. And I certainly don't want to hear any details on, well, on the stuff you two do when the lights are out. But do you think it was wise to make out with Peeta so shortly after you split up with Gale?"  
  
He can barely hold back his anger, I see that in the way his veins stand out on his neck.  
  
"Honestly Katniss, what where you thinking?"  
  
I stare at Haymitch. He believes that this happened during petting between Peeta and me? How could he?  
  
"Haymitch, it wasn't like that. I didn't touch him. I thought, I heard something and went to his sitting room to investigate. He, he.." I stutter, blushing.  
  
This is shameful, for me and for Peeta, but Haymitch shouldn't think I led Peeta on.  
  
"He…Peeta, he was touching himself."  
  
Haymitch eyes grow large at this.  
  
"Yeah…I know. And I wanted to leave but..."  
  
I can't tell Haymitch about the initial reaction I had when I witnessed Peeta masturbating. It felt nice, arousing. I even thought of joining in, for a short crazy second.  
  
"But he realized I was there and then he went all crazy. He had an episode and…didn't stop touching his p..penis. He crushed it…when I tried to stop him."  
  
That's the short version of what happened. I don't want to tell them that Peeta moaned my name. I really don't want to tell them what he said after he came.  
  
I can see in their faces that they are not satisfied with my retelling of the events. I look down at my kitchen table cloth and start to rip into it again. I probably should buy a new one.  
  
What must Haymitch think now? I'm afraid to find out. My thoughts go back to Peeta's sitting room. Peeta's milky seed on the sofa table. Did Haymitch see it? Is his semen still there, dried on the mahogany, the last remains of him? Fighting the urge to run over and check, I make a mental note to go later and clean it up. It's not right, if it stays.  
  
What will Peeta do if he returns? Will he return? And when? Will he be able to talk to me about what happened ? I need to call Dr. Aurelius. Or even better, I need to call Peeta. He has to know that I still want to be his friend. I don't blame him, but will he blame me? It all goes back to the hijacking. I swear I would kill Snow a thousand times and over if I could.  
  
"So, it all comes down to the hijacking, damn you, Snow," I mumble.  
  
"It doesn't," Haymitch says, and continues, as if talking to himself, "Peeta was hijacked, sure. But he is strong. We all were amazed at the progress he made. And then he deteriorated. Closed himself up. I couldn't help, and you… we're all at fault here."  
  
Now that everything seems to be on the table, I wonder what Haymitch and Peeta talked about all the time.  
  
"Did you know about Peeta's episodes, Haymitch?" I ask, in dire need of answers.  
  
"Episodes?"  
  
"Yes, episodes, tantrums, whatever you want to call them. Peeta had them in the bakery, several times. Breaking stuff and screaming at people. Did you know?"  
  
Haymitch sighs and searches for Ermengarde Leger's face with his eyes.  
  
"There are a lot of things that went wrong, these last few years. He didn't only shut you out, Katniss. I mean, sure he talked to me. Even more than back then. But, the things he said, the topics we talked about were different than before. It's like he avoided anything deeper, things like his family, or even you. It was up and down with him. When he began to send letters to you, he seemed high up in the clouds, even when you didn't answer. He thought he had made some sort of connection with you, couldn't stop himself, talked about you non-stop, really. And then, it could be only hours later he didn't want to let me in his house. When I talked to him in the bakery sometimes, he was gruff. Said things…"  
  
Haymitch rubs his hand through his hair, sighing. He looks into the distance, lost in thought.  
  
"He was confused, some days. Only addressed you in the third person. Didn't say your name, or…Hawthorne's. When he talked about you both, you were often only _her_ and _him_. Or _she_ and her _boyfriend_. I don't know. I never told you, because it seemed that things turned around for the better when we began to meet again. He was obviously sane enough to control himself around you. That must have taken a huge amount of self-discipline, but I think he was on a good way to getting better. Through meeting people of the District in the bakery, I thought he would socialize a bit more. I couldn't…."  
  
Haymitch stops for a moment, and then I notice his eyes are dangerously red. Have I ever seen him cry before? I don't remember.  
  
"I couldn't go to Peeta and tell him off. Tell him to get his act together or live his life like I want him to. That works with you Katniss, and I'm really thankful for that. Our relationship, as hard it may be sometimes, is different. Easier. Peeta is a far cry from you. I took so much from him already. I can't chastise him, or play his father. Whenever I go over to talk to him, I feel like the biggest hypocrite. Because everything I say sounds like pretentious preaching. I have no right to do this, no right. I want to help the boy, you must believe me. But I'm a broken person. I'm not a Doctor. Staying away from the bottle is the hardest for me. Honestly, do you know what? An hour ago, after I put the boy into the hovercraft it took all I had left in me to not run into town, to not go and drink myself into oblivion. It's a fight, Katniss. The toughest. Every day, for the rest of my fucking life will be a fight. I am ashamed to admit it, but I don't have the strength or the ability to make Peeta happy. I can't help him."  
  
And finally a small tear runs down Haymitch's face. I don't know what to say. Haymitch has done so much for me, never lost faith in me, but he must always felt torn. Torn between me and Peeta. Who to support, who to be there for? Might be that Peeta has lost his trust in Haymitch, but I know in this moment, I never will. If Haymitch chose me to protect, I simply must choose Peeta to look over.  
  
"Did you know he stopped his treatment with Dr. Aurelius?"  
  
Haymitch shakes his head. I swallow. This is going to be hard. But I hope things can only get better and I must be honest and open tonight, if I want to make an effort to get Peeta back to himself.  
  
"Haymitch, what did you think about…my relationship with Gale?"  
  
He looks up sharply. I know he doesn't expect this now, but I noticed that a lot of Peeta's words and actions are connected to me and Gale.  
  
"I didn't like it," he says, brutally honest. Yes, our relationship is certainly different.

"I don't think Hawthorne had any business coming back here whenever his heart desired and push you into a spiral of happiness and depression. Katniss, you changed when he visited. Did everything to please him. It was weird, I'd never seen you like that before. But you also seemed less depressed when you were with him. So I guess, I thought it was none of my business. You're an adult. And he was…is your oldest and best friend. I couldn't really begrudge you that."  
  
Happy Katniss. That's all Haymitch wanted. And it might be that we both lost Peeta on the way. My happiness always came first. My need for someone who would chase away the loneliness and help me face another day, no matter what. And that brought me to Gale. Deep down I'm almost grateful that Gale broke it off, so I didn't had to. Would I ever have found the strength? I'm not sure.  
  
"Did you and Peeta…did you talk about relationships? Girls?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Did he ever? I mean... earlier..in town…" I blush deeply. I don't know how to formulate this. I mean, Peeta surely knew that I was sleeping with Gale. But what about his experiences? Haymitch said he didn't socialize, but earlier he did. I know, he went to dances when he was fifteen, sixteen. I break into sweat, when I think about the time that me and Peeta were separated and he was in the Capitol. What did they do to him there?  
  
Haymitch catches on and rolls his eyes, looks at me as if I'm crazy.  
  
"Are you really that blind? When should Peeta have done that? Everyone could see he was a sheltered naive town kid when he was reaped. An innocent boy!"  
  
"I just thought, well, more assumed...after the Games and then..in the Capitol…and…"  
  
I don't continue. Peeta had been so popular in school. And when I didn't return his affections, there surely must've been some town girl. Or not? I'm not sure. I don't even think I know Peeta all that well. But did I really think that his torturers did that to him? Rape him? No, I never thought of his torture much because most of the time he refused to tell me anything about it.  Going down that route was obviously not what Peeta wanted, and I was scared of knowing the truth. I thought it was better to stay silent, if he didn't bring it up. Guilt is still the foremost feeling I have when I think of my time in District 13 when he was with Snow.  
  
"We're talking about a boy who had a crush on you since he was five years old, Katniss. He was loyal to you since childhood. If you two didn't….then naturally he wouldn't look elsewhere. And look where that got him tonight!"  
  
Haymitch seems angry again and I right now I don't get why. It's certainly not my fault that Peeta hasn't had sex before. What should I have done? Should I have slept with him in front of the cameras? After the Games he wouldn't have wanted my touch!  And after he returned to Twelve? Should I have forced myself on him when he was the one who rejected me?  
  
Discomfort is my foremost emotion at the moment. Discussing my sex life not only with Haymitch, but also Dr. Leger, who still remains seated is shameful. What is it with this woman?  
  
While Peeta still might be a virgin, calling him an innocent boy doesn't fit. He told me very specifically what kind of thoughts he had. He is not sixteen anymore, but a man of twenty-one. Getting into a fight with Haymitch is not a good idea right now. I do believe that our old mentor still sees Peeta as a child, someone who needs the helping hand of a parent. And in this scenario, adult Peeta who definitely has urges or fantasies that aren't quite so innocent anymore, doesn't work. I'm not the only one who likes to sugarcoat the reality.  
  
"I can't talk to you about this anymore, at the moment, honestly I can't stand to look at you."  
  
And with that Haymitch stands up. Without further ado he walks out of the kitchen, through my back door. I watch him retreat and wonder if a person can actually shrink within a few hours. His figure seems so thin and small.  
  
Dr. Leger and I are alone now, and I have no idea why she is not following Haymitch. Shouldn't she hold his hand like a good partner? She stays and simply looks at me thoughtfully. This is my house, it would be rude to tell her I'd rather be alone. I cough, hoping she'll get the hint.  
  
"Miss Everdeen, I think there are some things I have to tell you. Haymitch doesn't want me to, but I disagree. I think that Mr. Mellark might want you to know, too. Did you know that he is my patient?"  
  
This is news to me. I slowly shake my head.  
  
"He is. I'm a practical doctor first, but I also studied psychology back in the day. I'm...well, let's just say I'm an old acquaintance of Dr. Aurelius."  
  
I stare at her, looking closer. I'm getting many reveals this night. A connection between our District Doctor and Dr. Aurelius? Where did this woman come from? What's her deal? Might be she is older than I'd originally thought. I can see fine lines etched into her face. She is not unattractive, her hair a beautiful shade of red, eyes green and her lips full. She must be around ten years Haymitch's senior, I see that now.  
  
"I know about his time in the Capitol, and about his treatment in District Thirteen. About things he'd rather not share with people, things he is ashamed of. I'll tell you this now, because it seems like a lot of your interactions are based on misunderstandings and no communication. He has been rejecting our advice on how to handle the after-effects of his hijacking."  
  
"Rejecting your advice?" I echo, still bewildered by the fact that this woman knows about all of this. The hijacking was no secret, that's true. But Ermengarde Leger talks as if she is an expert.  
  
"Yes. Dr. Aurelius and me, we both told him that keeping his distance from you was the wrong way to handle the situation. He told me he couldn't stand being near you anymore. That happened.. let me think. I guess it must've been almost three years ago. He wouldn't tell us why exactly, but I guess it relates back to something he doesn't want people to know about. For better understanding, you know that the hijacking is a complicated issue. Even Dr. Aurelius, who is without a doubt the paramount neurologist of our time has a high number of unknowns to consider. What was done to Peeta Mellark is entirely unprecedented. Every patient is different, but this specific form of torture, which attacks the brain directly, makes it hard to create a specific treatment plan."  
  
I thought I was famous, but it seems Dr. Aurelius is not some quack either. The best head doctor of our time? An expert on brains? And he wastes his time listening to my ramblings and crazy temper tantrums, two hours a day. Another knot of shame unfurls itself in my stomach. What kind of person did I become? Ermengarde Leger certainly seems to think he is some prodigy.  
  
However, I don't like the way she talks about Peeta. Sure, he is her patient. But all of this sounds too much like the experiments of District 13 on Peeta's mind. Does this mean, he can't be helped, ever? Does this mean that beside the looming threat of infertility, he will never get better mentally? I have to fight hard to not start crying again.  
  
"You must know that there are certain triggers that activate synapses in his brains and propel him to relive his torture in his mind. Things like electro shocks, poison, repeated punches to his face or deprivation of sleep," the Doctor continues and I have to fight hard to keep seated on my chair and not topple over.  
  
_Poison._  
  
I start to shudder, not at all prepared to hear details about Peeta's torture. Will I ever be ready? Dr. Leger notices my reaction, her expression mildly curious. She knows, she is onto something as she listed the methods used for destroying the image of the Mockingjay in Peeta's broken heart.  
   
"Do you have any idea what that could have been?" Even her tone is conversational, as if she didn't just reveal details of the horrific torture the boy I love endured.  
  
I'd rather have Peeta tell me what happened in the Capitol than a woman I barely know, who has spoken little to me before this day. It seems, though, that Ermengarde Leger might have the answers to questions I've been brooding over for years.  
  
"What happened with poison in the Capitol?" I ask, offering no information myself. She looks unsure, probably debating if she really should tell me this.  
  
"I need to know. If I had known sooner, maybe this all could have been prevented. Peeta wouldn't have to lie in a hospital bed badly hurt. I wouldn't be that mess of a person I am. I'm not good at reading people, Dr. Leger. I have caused so much pain for him, I need to help, make amends.  Please, you have to tell me!" I plead, desperation evident in my every word. Today has been an emotional rollercoaster. I go from angry to frustrated to sad to desperate in seconds. This can't be good for me.  
  
Dr. Leger gives me a long look.  
  
"Did you know that Coriolanus Snow studied medicine in his youth?" she asks after what seemed like ten minutes of silence.  
  
I shake my head. I remember Finnick's interview, in which he told not only of how the victors were sold by Snow, but also certain secrets that President Snow wanted to hide. That on his rise to power he left a trail of poisoned corpses behind. I admit that that was a time in my life when I didn't spend much time wondering about the human that was President Snow or his life before he became Panem's president. And still, I'm not interested in what made him into what he became later. But hearing that Snow might've started out as a healer, like my mother, like my little sister, like my precious Prim, is just one more revelation I could have done without.  
  
"He never really left behind this field of expertise, which was medicine. But instead of concentrating on helping people, his research was much more sinister. He specialized in inorganic chemistry. The creation of artificial drugs and he experimented on humans. He created several hallucinogenic drugs and poisons all by himself."  
  
Experimenting on humans? Yes, Snow was a monster. Still I'm surprised that there is another dark side to the man. I do wonder how Ermengarde Leger knows all of this, but another thought is already making me retch up bile on the kitchen floor before she can get me anything resembling a vessel. I wipe away the sick fluid and croak at her,  
  
"Peeta?"  
  
"There are no records left, Snow destroyed them all and executed the Doctors involved in the hijacking. Mr. Mellark says he doesn't remember. But that's what Dr. Aurelius believes. It must be connected," she shakes her head.  
  
"I think you should rest for now, you look like you need a good amount of sleep after today. Remember to drink plenty of water, I don't want you to dehydrate."

She stands up and leaves me behind with my thoughts and another horrible headache.

* * *

  
  
Feeling dead tired, I crawl into bed but find no sleep. I can't muster the energy to cry or scream or even talk. I thought of calling Dr. Aurelius but he must be on his way to meet Peeta, and I'm not sure he would be a good conversational partner to me at the moment. Dr. Leger and Dr. Aurelius seem unaware. Peeta told them, he doesn't remember anything. But he probably does, doesn't he?  
  
The letters.  
  
I have absolutely no energy left in me, not an ounce of power to go down that road today. And still I do. I finally do what I should've done a long time ago.  
  
Entering the dark storage room in my house, I put on the light. So Dr. Aurelius believes that Peeta avoiding me was the worst thing that he could have done. But what if Peeta couldn't have helped himself in that regard? I'm searching for clues and I'm sure Peeta mentioned something in his letters. I hope he didn't in the earlier ones. There must have been dozens that I burned before I started to talk to him again.  
  
While I sort through the letters I am glad that Peeta made sure to date most of them properly. I search for the older letters first. When I come to a pack of January letters I rip the envelopes open and skim through them as fast as I dare, hoping I won't miss a thing. I stop when I make out the word Buttercup, in one of them. That must've been that Friday night when Peeta asked me about Gale. When I brought up Buttercup and he wanted to explain things and I shut him down. I start to read.

 

> _Katniss,_
> 
> _a few nights ago, after I posted your letter, I went back to the bakery and the sun was setting over town in a soft orange. I remember that you told me that my favorite color is orange, that kind of sunset orange, back in the Capitol. I still can't remember that, but I am thankful that you told me. I don't know how on earth they could have made me forgot my favorite color of all things. But I did. I forgot so many things. When writing letters, sometimes I have to think hard about how a a character is written or what word to use. It is like they turned everything around in my head. My memories - thrown around like a jigsaw puzzle. Dr. Aurelius and Dr. Mead, one of the doctors in Thirteen, think my brain was permanently damaged by the hijacking. Not that badly, I am, for instance, able to learn new things and not forget them, but I will never return to be the Peeta Mellark from before._

There are some blotches on the paper, the ink is smeared at places. Sweat perhaps. Or tears….

 

>   
>  _I do remember things about my time as a prisoner in the Capitol clearly, like the time when they tortured Johanna and me. You must know it isn't easy for me to think about these months in prison and it is arduous to tell you about them. They are a part of me now and will never leave me. Dr. Aurelius believes it is a trauma. The torture I endured in the Capitol did seem random - at first. And not all that surprising. They began with starving me, leaving me only small portions of food, never enough. I was constantly hungry. And I was beaten up by guards, on most days, this, I hardly remember, especially the later beatings, when everything seems sharp and shiny._
> 
> _The venom of the tracker jacker wasps wasn't the only venom they injected. Sometimes I was allowed to leave my cell to have dinner with President Snow. I could hardly eat a bite, they had starved me. They didn't bring me back to the cell until I had a drink. Everything around this memory is still shiny, but what I remember is that I went to that dinner table several times, where Snow offered me a weird green mixture that made me so dizzy that I vomited blood for hours. How often did that happen?  Did it happen at all? Why would Snow treat me to dinner? I never felt that miserable, not during our first games, nor when my leg was amputated. Never as bad as when I had to drink with Snow. Still weakened by a morning dose of the tracker jacker venom - they showed me images of you. Of you killing people. Interlaced with images of District Twelve._

All of this is almost unreadable.  Each character gets messier and messier the longer it goes on.

 

>   
>  _When I found you with poisoned Buttercup on your knees in front of your house I felt a flashback coming and fought hard to let it not overwhelm me. Successfully - until you asked me to get the gun and everything went crazy in my head. The hate for you came on so strong, I had to tell the truth. My honest feelings. The worst thing is that I don't have any excuse. It is me that feels that way, me that remembers and not a mutt version of myself. When I tell you that I hate you, and I want you to leave me alone, I really mean it. Me, Peeta Mellark, doesn't want you. I know this doesn't makes sense. Least of all to me. My sense of self is connected to you. I hardly remember a day when I didn't want you by my side._
> 
> _Nonetheless I despised you that evening; had to get away from you and felt that I didn't want anything to do with you anymore. I still have these conflicting feelings towards you. In my head, I know you didn't anything wrong, you only tried to help Buttercup. I started having a nightmare after that night. I had the same this evening, when you brought Buttercup up._
> 
> _In that dream I am Buttercup and you kill me._  
>    
>  _You kill me._
> 
> _Repeatedly. It's an endless cycle in which you pull the trigger, with that shotgun, every time I close my eyes. And now I sit here, writing another useless letter to you because I can't bring myself to reach out to you, because I'm a coward. Afraid of you. Afraid of being with you. Afraid of your rejection. I'm pathetically happy that you talk to me again. I honestly have no idea why you do after I told you all these horrible things._  
>    
>  _You are with Gale. In my head, I understand this. I accept it. It does make sense. Katniss Everdeen and Gale Hawthorne always made more sense than Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark._  
>    
>  _Don't fret, I don't want you anymore._  
>    
>  _Why does it hurt to see you two together? I have no right to be jealous, but I am. Why are you with Gale? Why?_  
>    
>  _You'll never read this. It's good to know that you'll burn this letter._  
>    
>  _I know, because you never react to any hints when we talk at dinner._  
>  _I know, because I saw your chimney smoking, after you got my letter._  
>  _I know, because I saw your angry face when you took out my mail from your red letter box._  
>  _I know, because Haymitch keeps telling me I'm delusional._  
>    
>  _Writing these letters is like writing a diary. And when you burn the letter, you burn my anger, my thoughts, my hate away. It's cleansing. So, I'll keep writing honestly, every day and every day, because it helps._
> 
>   
>  _Peeta_

I finish reading the letter with a sob. I cried so much today, there can't even be a drop of salty water left in me.  
  
He thinks I burned them all, and I nearly did. Skimming throughout the other letters, he has written similar words in some of them. That he knows, about me throwing the letters away, that he will continue to write them anyway. Maybe he had some little hope left that I would read them? Some letters are more abstract than this one. Consist of words or letters that make no sense to me. One envelope has dried dandelions in it. Another is written entirely in faded red ink, which looks eerily like blood and repeats only one word for seven pages. Mutt. Others stop in the middle of the sentence, and then there is one in which Peeta rewrote the lyrics of the Valley Song and his characters look clean and neat, completely different to his usual messy style.  
  
Getting up I leave the storage room behind to get my pearl from the bedside drawer upstairs. I put it in there, shortly after Greasy Sae's funeral and have not searched for it since. A surging desire to play with it now, to kiss it, to caress it, burns in my chest. The small pink box I put it in lies hidden between my underwear. No one would ever search for it here. Taking the box I return to the storage room and close the door. I need this, this small cramped space. And darkness. Quickly I turn off the light and crawl into the corner. Make myself as small as possible, pearl in one hand and stroking his letters with the other. My Peeta is far away. There is not only the physical distance that is eating away at me. Not knowing what he is thinking is familiar, but today it hurts me more than in all those lost years before.  
  
I left Peeta alone. I made the same mistakes as back in Thirteen. I left him alone, when he needed me the most. And now I don't know what he is thinking. If he hates me. If he loves me. If he feels indifferent. What can I give him, how can I ever get him back? Help him out of this hell, if even Dr. Aurelius has no idea what to do?  
  
How did it come to this? When did it all go wrong? How could I have been that blind and self-centered? And who decided that Peeta had to suffer? He was just a normal boy from District 12. Whom I wanted to protect. I thought I did, but in the end I have failed. There must be a way out of this, but at the moment I can't see it. I only see darkness and pain and Peeta lying in some hospital bed far away, pale and alone, with no one to hold him. No one to stroke his hair. Trying to curl myself into a smaller ball is barely possible, but I want to disappear. Make myself invisible in this small room. Cease to exist, to breathe for a short period of time so the pain will be gone for at least a few healing moments.

* * *

  
  
Countless nights are spent worrying about Peeta during the next weeks. Haymitch stays angry at me and I often find myself wandering around the District, visiting Drew in his shop, sitting at the station staring at the tracks. I even spend time with Dr. Leger in her practice. Like Peeta suggested I let her examine me and I find myself in conversations with her when she has no patients to attend to. I don't talk about the poisoning with her. If Peeta wants this to be a secret, it is not mine to tell.

When I find a letter from Dr. Aurelius in my red letter box I can't help but get excited. He doesn't tell me much about Peeta during our calls. Only that he is physically okay. In the letter I find a short list of things he wants me to send to the hospital for Peeta. Clothes, painting supplies, books.  
  
I've visited Peeta's house daily since that rainy September day, when the hovercraft left. To open the windows mostly, to ventilate the big rooms. Peeta likes his windows open, especially in summer.  
  
After reading the letters I had to force myself to enter the sitting room. As I had thought, his sitting room table hadn't been cleaned. So I took over. And suddenly I found myself in Peeta's storage room dragging out his mop and began to clean the house, from cellar to attic. I didn't enter Peeta's painting room, or his bedroom then.  
  
His clothes are in there, so I have to do it today. Slowly I creep up the stairs, the hair on my neck standing up for some reason. Dr. Aurelius sent me here, and I'm guessing Peeta knows I'm the one who will collect his stuff. But it still feels like I'm intruding Peeta's privacy. The door to Peeta's bedroom is closed, but I'm sure Haymitch has been in here at least once, after Peeta was taken away. The blinds are drawn so I go to the window to open them up. The room looks exactly like all the bedrooms look in Victor's houses. There is no individuality, no personal touch. It could be any house in the Victor's Village, if it wasn't for one little thing. Sitting on Peeta's bed on a blue pillow.  
  
It is a small, stuffed monkey.  
  
Without warning I find myself dizzy, collapsing on the ground. Tears splash down my cheeks and I whimper, biting on my tongue to stop myself from wailing.

I can't…

The sight of the small, slightly broken plush is too much.  
  
It makes me ache, self-hate coming in waves. Why couldn't I have been Peeta's stalwart? Why did I have to abandon him? Why couldn't I have been stronger and why did I let him push me away? And why, oh why did I not read his letters when he began reaching out again? Why must I have been so damn prideful?  
  
I knew I loved Peeta and even then, I turned to Gale. Groaning I roll on my back and stare at the ceiling. I wanted to feel loved by my boy with the bread. Selfishly thinking that we overcame the hijacking together and that my pain was more important than his. Losing Prim had brought so much pain, still too much pain that resulted in me not being able to think straight. I couldn't see his suffering, only mine. I had wished to be saved, for him to be my life raft. I never thought, not once, that Peeta might've needed a life raft as well. My back hurts and I get up slowly. I drag myself to the bed where the little monkey sits and watches me through black beady-eyes. Maybe the monkey can do what I failed at? I decide to add it to the parcel for Peeta.  
  
I lean over, examining the only toy that is left from his childhood. The small monkey hadn't stayed in the bakery with the Mellarks after the 74th Hunger Games. I first saw it when I visited Peeta for the first time, shortly after the Victory Tour. One ear was missing and I had stared at the stuffed animal, sitting on his sofa.  
  
"What's this?" I had asked, laughing, taking it into my hand, examining the loose threads and the faded brown fabric.

"That thing looks like it had a meeting with Buttercup!"  
  
"Don't laugh, Everdeen," he had grinned at me, "Let me introduce you two, it's high time you meet. This is Abee. The first and only present I ever got that wasn't a hand me down! I've had him since I was a toddler."  
  
"For real?"  
  
He had nodded proudly.

"It's a tradition from my mother's side of the family. For our second birthday we all got a stuffed animal. My brothers got a teddy bear, each. The teddys belonged to my father and mother when they were children. So there were no stuffed animals left when it was my turn. Abee was made specifically for me, an expensive order from the tailor, or so they say. My mother often likes to retell the tale on how the Mellarks hardly ate that year, because they had to pay for it. Exaggerating, but that's how she is, you know. My brothers were envious, I guess. Me getting a stuffed toy when their own teddy bears had been left overs, couldn't have that. They tried to destroy Abee, but I know how to protect the things I love."  
  
His eyes had been twinkling when he said that. I remember turning away, changing the subject quickly, only to not be reminded of his feelings for me, feeling uncomfortable with his honesty. And that was the last time I saw Abee, when I placed him gently next to the big Capitol style cushions on Peeta's sofa.  
  
Peeta left him here, in his bedroom. A lone companion, still sitting on his bed, after all this time, a relic from another life, a link to his past. A reminder that there was a family of five once, who ran a bakery.

Bakery. There is a bakery. Still. Again.  
  
Yes, Peeta's bakery. I hadn't thought about it before, but it is now abandoned, because he is gone. And Henry Walner has won. This thought irks me the wrong way. I can't let him win, I can't let Peeta's bakery wither away.

I've been waiting for Dr. Aurelius to give me a hint, or to tell me when he thinks Peeta is going to return. Another horrible thought occurs to me now. What if he is not coming back? What if he decides he can't stand to look at me anymore? Hates this place, hates his bakery and wishes for some quiet life in, say District 7 with Johanna? Or decides that he loves the sea and stays in District 4 with Annie and her little boy? Or, he could even start anew with Elmar and Coraline, opening a bakery in District 5! They worked so well together, it doesn't seem far fetched.

Peeta has all of Panem open to him. Why should he return to this place a second time? The people in the District are strangers, wary of him. All he has left is his shop. The place where his heart lies. And if the bakery has wasted away, he has no reason to return, no reason at all. All the work, everything will be for naught.  
  
Suddenly I know what to do. Maybe it was fate that I decided to help Peeta before the Summer Festival. I'm going to make sure, that no matter how long it'll take he always has at least this, if he wants it back. This place, which I know is home to Peeta. The place he can always return to, I must protect it.  
  
It's decided. I'm going to run the bakery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hope this wasn't too confusing. I know that this chapter is a bit disjointed, especially Peeta's letter and that some things don't seem to make much sense. At least I hope it wasn't boring after I teased you with hints about Peeta's letters for 5 chapters. :)


	8. Sender: Haymitch Abernathy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your eyes aren't deceiving you. This is Chapter 8 of TRLB, Sender: Haymitch Abernathy, a mere two weeks after I updated last. Thanks to some sweet comments I got motivated and wanted to get it out to you, asap. It's the longest chapter for this story by far. I got a little carried away....
> 
> Check out the link in my profile for a TRLB Who is Who. I promise those OCs are less important than they seem, but if you're getting confused this should help.

"Sourdough," Elmar explains with a sigh, and I imagine him rolling his eyes, while he presses the receiver to his ear, "is prepared with a mixture containing yeast and water. We call it 'starter'. You need it, and I'm sure Peeta has stored it in the storage room in a small bowl."  
  
"Impossible," I moan, "I told you, I can't find it. I've searched everywhere….."    
  
"Katniss," Elmar repeats, as if talking to a toddler, making it obvious what's coming next. He is going to try to let me down, gently. "I really am sorry, but I have to go. I need to work and help Cora with the baby. Peeta has done a lot for me and we are thankful for him giving us a job when we needed it.  But I have to take care of my family now. I don't have time for this."  
  
"But I can't do it, Elmar," I say quietly, "I have no idea what to do. You're the only baker I know."  
  
And it is true. Elmar is my only link to this world of flour, yeast and ovens, the only one in whom I trust to not letting me burn down the bakery.  
  
"You know another baker, Katniss. Peeta. Just call him, please. He can tell you exactly what you need to know and where to find ingredients and recipes. Remember, I haven't been at Mellark's for over a year.  It's more than likely that he has rearranged things. I'm sorry, but I'm hanging up, gotta go."  
  
And then he does. If I wasn't feeling so sorry for myself, I would feel sorry for him. I've been nagging Elmar with letters and phone calls non-stop since I've decided to run the bakery. At first I felt bad. Three years ago I had been friends with Elmar and Coraline, but never bothered to contact them after they left the district. After Peeta and I fell out, I also fell out with them, when they had done nothing, had only been kind to me. I had been very shocked when Haymitch informed me that they had left months and months ago. Back before I finally took my blinkers off and began to see that there was more to this world than Katniss Everdeen and her pain.  
  
They seemed happy enough when I called them at first, told me all about their new life in District 5 and that they became parents of a baby girl two months prior. When I talked to Cora a few days ago the sound of happy cooing could be heard from the end of the line. For some reason, that stung. Badly. Both of them are around ten years older than me and Peeta, but I never imagined them with a child. It never occurred to me that they might want to have one. I had assumed they didn't like or want a kid. But that was obviously a stupid idea. They were nice people, why would they dislike children and not want one of their own? Not everyone is weird like me.  
  
Elmar had been kind to help me at the beginning, when he heard that Peeta was in the hospital. I told Elmar that it was hijacking related, no details about what really happened. It is bad enough that me, Haymitch, Ermengarde Leger and probably a bunch of paramedics, know what occured. I don't want it to be public knowledge around Panem that Peeta ruptured his testicles. How much would that hurt, if _everyone_ knew? Patiently, the District 5 baker did his best. Every evening we spent an hour with him trying to explain the baker's craft to me. And it's not like I'm completely stupid. Baking is simply not something that can be done over the phone and after a while Elmar got tired of explaining things that seemed more than obvious to him.  
  
Now I'm back at square one - all alone, with not the tiniest idea of what to do. Selling would be easy - if I actually had something to sell. How Peeta ever managed to do all of this on his own, I'll never know. For one, there is the ordering of the ingredients. I'm already swamped with that. I don't know what to order, when to order, how much to order. I'm not familiar with the suppliers and their prices. I don't know how to store the goods correctly. I nearly collapsed on the ground when I tried to lift a flour bag onto one of the shelves one afternoon.  
  
And, this is the biggest obstacle - baking remains a mystery to me.  
  
At first, I thought it couldn't be that hard. Cooking is a second nature to me. Putting together a tasty meal with only leftovers and plants from the woods - piece of cake. But baking as a job and cooking a dinner for one is like comparing apples to oranges. It's a whole different world, and Katniss Everdeen never grew up in a bakery. She went hunting with her pa, and later with Gale when Peeta learned the tricks of the trade from his father. All of this is too much, it is asking too much. I am very well aware that I'm the one who is asking for it. Who wants it to be done. I'm the one who is responsible for the bakery and while I never thought this would be easy, I find myself at my wits end already. Before I even started.

* * *

  
  
After I spent a week in the bakery, trying to figure out how things are done, I hear the doorbell and find Haymitch standing in the shop. Without hesitation I walk over and embrace him. I never was one for hugs, but I don't think I can't stand him being mad at me any second longer.  
  
"I'm sorry," I apologize earnestly when he takes a step away from me.  
  
"Don't be, " he grumbles. "Gardy told me off for acting so childish. And she is right, as always. I'm the one who should be sorry. I couldn't protect him and instead of blaming myself it was easier blaming you."  
  
I shrug. What's done is done and I'm glad he seems to be over it.  
  
"How are you?" I ask, honestly needing to know. I want to be involved in Haymitch's life. He never told me directly that he and Ermengarde Leger are a couple and that is another thing that stings. I would've been happy for him. Both me and Peeta. Sure, we might've teased him about it, but Haymitch always demands honesty and openness, but doesn't hold himself to the same standards.  
  
"Okay," he says, "Working too much, not trying to think. I'm not sure what else to do." He follows me as I motion upwards. We walk the stairs into the apartment, where I slept for the last week, where Peeta slept most of the time. The furniture is almost entirely new. Haymitch made most of it, so the apartment was already furnished and ready for Elmar and Coraline when they moved in. It is still pretty narrow and there is not a lot of space to move around. Elmar and Coraline certainly couldn't have stayed, if they had had the baby earlier. I wonder if Peeta would have moved in here, changing houses with them. It is something I could've seen him do. I'm having strange thoughts these days. Since I read Peeta's letters I've been trying to find hints in everything that he said or did before. To my everlasting shame I have forgotten most of our conversations. Never paid enough attention or I should've realized that he had been poisoned by Snow. It was so obvious. Everyone knew about President Snow's knowledge and use of poison. Why didn't I ever connect the dots with Buttercup's poisoning?  
  
I make tea for Haymitch and sink down on the sofa. Peeta must've slept on it a lot. I don't really see him sleeping in the double bed of the bedroom. He wouldn't have. I also don't sleep there, think about it as a marital bed for Elmar and Coraline.  
  
"What about you?," Haymitch asks, studying me closely. "You look like you hardly slept at all since…." He leaves it there.  
  
"I'm okay, I'm okay," I reassure him. "Honestly, this is nothing. It's just..well, I don't really get Peeta's system. And he didn't leave any records. Or recipes. I mean, didn't he need some sort of recipe book?"  
  
Haymitch shakes his head, "No, he didn't have one. He told me that he had them all in his head. Didn't want to write them down, because he believed it to be a really good, how did he formulate it? Brain work out. Said as long as he remembers his father's recipes, he knows his brain is still useful to a certain extent."  
  
"Oh," I moan, not knowing what else to say. This is another punch in the gut. It hurts me and is highly impractical as well.  
  
"Haymitch, I know you're busy and all, but could you help me out a bit? I mean, do you have many orders right now? You watched him work, didn't you? Maybe you can help me?"  
  
He raises his hands in a gesture that reminds me of Gale, trying to tame a wild horse that we once met in the woods.  
  
"Woah, woah, wait a minute sweetheart. No. I mean, no. I can't do this. Me and the bakery, that's entirely impossible. It won't work. If I had any talent in that area, I would help you…but no. No way."  
  
My shoulders fall down in a defeated motion. I didn't really expect Haymitch to help, but he was my last resort. Who is left now? I also feel a little annoyed that Haymitch won't even try, but I don't let it show.  
  
"Anyway, I came here because I have a request. I need you to make sure that Gardy won't move my belongings from my house to hers here in town."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"I'm leaving on the next train, tomorrow morning. Gardy has been nagging about moving in together. But she doesn't want to live in the Village. Which is understandable, with her practice in town. But I won't leave that house. Ever. I'm too old for this shit, really. I have enough on my plate without trying to live together with a person. It won't work…I've been alone since…since my family died. I can't do this Katniss, but she doesn't understand…"  
  
"What are you talking about?" Panic is slowly starting to bubble up my chest. "What do you mean, leaving?"  
  
Haymitch can't leave. No, actually, he can leave. But he wouldn't, would he?  
  
"Don't worry, I'm not going for long, but Gardy is a superwoman. I see her clearing up my house in a few hours!"  
  
"Where are you going Haymitch?"  
  
Silence and Haymitch avoids my eyes.  
  
"You're going to visit him, aren't you?"  
  
"Yes," Haymitch says slowly. "But I can't tell you much more. I don't know any further details. Only that Dr. Aurelius told Gardy that I should visit, when I find the time."  
  
To say I'm surprised is an understatement. I didn't expect this. It's been three weeks since Peeta was admitted to the hospital. Dr. Aurelius refuses to tell me about Peeta when we talk on the phone. But I had expected that he was making progress. That I'd soon be hearing from him. Naturally I was still afraid that he might move somewhere else. But now Haymitch is going to visit him. And I'm still banished. I wanna scream about the unfairness of it all. What does Panem have to fear if I go visit Peeta in the hospital? It doesn't make sense. I jump up and grab Haymitch's sleeve.  
  
"Please, Haymitch you must…you must tell him how sorry I am. For everything. Tell him, I read his letters and I understand. Tell him he can call me anytime, if he wants to talk. You've got to tell him, please!"

Desperation is obvious in my every word, my voice pleading. I grip Haymitch's arm tightly and he looks at me sadly.  
  
"You know, I can't promise you that. I don't even know if he will want to talk to me, much less if he wants to talk about you," he swallows. "He has not taken my calls."  
  
"Mine neither," I sigh. Elmar told me I should simply ask Peeta about my problems, but he has no idea what really happened and that Peeta refuses any kind of contact. I've been calling the hospital since the day I decided to run the bakery. I call them in the morning, I call them at night. The hospital staff obviously feel sorry for me, but the message is clear. Peeta doesn't want to talk to me. I had no idea that Peeta also refused Haymitch's calls, though. This is unacceptable. I don't know what Dr. Aurelius thinks he's doing.  
  
"It might be that the whole trip will be futile, sweetheart. It might be that Peeta won't let me see him. But Gardy and the doc think he will be less conflicted about a conversation, if it is face to face. There are many things that need to be talked about, it seems."

Haymitch's eyes find the ceiling.

"Even if he listens to me, don't you think there are some things he needs to hear from you yourself? I mean, I can tell him that you 'understand' and that you're sorry and all that, but what would that actually accomplish? Nothing. You need to communicate with Peeta and not through me, that's for sure."  
  
"But he won't take my calls. He is ignoring me, again."  
  
Haymitch looks at me as if I'm mental. "Excuse me? You're the lady who became famous all over Panem for her numerous letters and gigantic stationary collection. What did the boy do when you ignored him?"  
  
"Ah," I groan. It's obvious. I'm so stupid. How could I have forgotten? This is what I do. I write letters. Letters are another thing altogether, it is easier to read a letter. You don't have to talk, you only receive. And even if he won't read them now, there might be a little chance that he'll read them eventually, if I stay persistent. One day he might read them. Like I did.  
  
For the first time in months I feel a huge smile spreading on my face.  
  
"You're a wise man, Haymitch Abernathy." I clap Haymitch on the back, then put the used cups in the sink.  
  
"Is that right?" he chuckles. "Then let me give you one last piece of advice before I go. Go and talk to Henry Walner about the bakery business."  
  
It's actually not the first time this suggestion has been spoken. I asked several people in town, if one of the new settlers might have a bakery background, but the only name that came out of it was Henry's.  
  
"But he's…he's the enemy," I stutter.  
  
"Whose enemy? Did you ever actually talk to the guy?" I grit my teeth. When I went to Henry's the only thing I said to him was ' _Give me bread'_ and that was it. I never made an effort to get to know him, our interaction restricted to the usual business chatter.  
  
"Sweetheart, the war is over. You don't need to construct an enemy here in District 12."  
  
That makes me snort. Haymitch can only talk like that because he didn't listen to Peeta cursing Henry. I have a feeling that Peeta doesn't want this guy in his bakery, no matter what a saint Henry might be. Peeta never mentioned Henry in his letters, but I remember his words, spoken out of fear, I assume. Fear that people liked Henry better than him.  
  
"Listen," Haymitch continues after seeing the look on my face. "I'm not saying you should let him take over Mellark's. I'm just telling you that your options are limited and false pride won't help you get stuff done. And Henry is not a bad guy. You might be surprised. You don't have to decide this now, but if you want to make a profit one day….you'll never know when Peeta returns and you can't afford to let things slide much longer."  
  
Hating the fact that he is right I fill the sink with water, while my former mentor puts a key on the table.  
  
"Please, look after my house. I'm counting on you, sweetheart."  
  
"I'll try my best." I murmur and he ruffles my hair and gives me a short hug.  
  
"I know you will."  
  
And then he is gone.

 

* * *

  
  
Another week of frustration goes by in which Elmar and Coraline refuse to pick up the phone. Haymitch's voice keeps nagging me in the back of my mind. _'Go to Henry'_ it says.

More than just once I imagine Haymitch and Peeta sitting together in the hospital. Talking. Or not. I'm not sure if Haymitch was successful or if he keeps trying and is rejected by Peeta. I wonder how long it'll be until he gives up. One Afternoon I check on the houses in the Victor's Village. Having Haymitch gone is even weirder than having Peeta gone. I'm the only Victor left in the district and come back to ventilate the houses daily. If I weren't so busy with the bakery, I'd probably get depressed again. Sitting all alone in my house, thinking of nothing but Peeta and his dinners with Snow or re-imagining countless ' _should haves_ ' of the day when he had his episode.  
  
There is a letter that puts a smile on my face, which I find in the red letter box, several days later. Giggling at the sight of a District 4 stamp I grin when I see the sender is Haymitch Abernathy. The letter is short, Haymitch only informs me that he is in a little hotel near the hospital and has talked to Peeta, who - as suspected - is more inclined to talk face to face than over the telephone. Desperately curious for more news I check the letter thrice. As I thought, Haymitch doesn't include information about their talks in this simple letter. Instead he goes on about how he knows that I love getting mail and that he always wanted to send me something, wishing he could see my face now. He reminds me that I should keep Ermengarde away from his house and ends the letter with greetings from my mother whom he also met for a coffee.

I'm kind of glad that I wasn't present for that conversation at least. Fortunately Haymitch won't tell her what I did with her pills a few months ago. I trust him not to break that promise. But I cannot imagine Haymitch and my mother having a conversation that doesn't evolve around me. I'm the only link they have in common.  
  
Walking back into town I've walked my old route, without realizing it. The route which brings me to Walner's. Or the other bakery, as I like to call it. I haven't been here for a long time, over a year to be exact. It's afternoon so Henry is all alone behind the counter. Does he have an assistant? I've never seen anyone but him inside. Henry is a hulking guy, a typical baker. He is older than Peeta by far, but I find that I cannot judge his age correctly. His hair is brown, interwoven with grey patches. He smiles at me, when I enter the bakery. It seems forced. I remember that Henry is known throughout town for his seriousness.  
  
"Miss Everdeen, long time no see. What can I do for you today?"  
  
For a short moment I wonder if he's faking it. He must know that I took over Mellark's and I don't think he can be too happy about it. I pull myself together. I have no reason to distrust this man.  
  
"Hi," I say, "I'm not exactly sure how to begin this conversation. You might've heard. Peeta Mellark was injured and he left the District to get treated in a hospital in the former District 4."  
  
"Yes, I've heard. How is he, getting better I hope?"  
  
"Uhh," I don't know what to say to this. I could lie and say yes, but then one might wonder why Peeta is not coming back.  
  
"To make a long story short, no he isn't. And I'm taking over his bakery. But I'm not a baker…couldyouhelpmewithbakingandstuff?"  
  
Oh no, that must've sounded more than just rude. I mumbled and didn't even exchange pleasantries with the guy. Why should he ever help me? I wouldn't if I were him.  
  
Henry Walner looks weirded out. "Excuse me? I didn't catch that," he says and I don't believe he's teasing.  
  
"Please, I have no idea what I'm doing. I'm not a baker and I need help. I can pay you. I have money." When I decided to run the bakery it was clear to me that I would pay for it with the money I have left. I want to do good things with it.  
  
"Miss Everdeen, it's nice that you've thought of me and I'd like to help you out. But I have my own business. I don't have the time. And frankly I don't see why I should help out the rival bakery."  
  
I knew it. I knew this was a stupid idea. Why did I let Haymitch talk me into it. Henry is right, why should he do this?  
  
"I can't take you on as an apprentice, either. Learning the bakery trade is something that takes years and years of practice. It is not that simple."  
  
"I know," I sigh. And I do. This becomes more impossible by the minute.  
  
"I could call my nephew. He lives in the former District 11, working in a food factory. He has work experience in a bakery. Maybe he would be willing to move here, if you can guarantee a steady income."  
  
This sounds fantastic, indeed. But I don't want to look too enthusiastic.  
  
"Interesting," I say. "What kind of experience does he have?"  
  
"My father owned a bakery in District 10. My older brother, took over. Eric, my nephew grew up in that bakery. I also worked there. Some of us went around Panem after the war, looking for a different place to stay."  
  
It's a familiar story. After the war Panem didn't suddenly turn into a wonderland. There are economic hardships around the districts and people still suffer. Refugees are becoming a serious problem for the government.  
  
"Why did you choose District 12?" I can't help but ask. District 12 is known around Panem for me, the Mockingjay and the coal. But everyone knows that Peeta has opened his very own bakery here. Plutarch even sent a camera team to report the news.  
  
"I wanted to work with Mr. Mellark when I first came. But he couldn't afford to employ me. Seemed genuinely sorry about it, too. He had just offered the position to a young baker from District 5."  
  
"Oh," I answer, surprised. That was bad timing for Henry. I wonder why Peeta never told me about it.  
  
"In the end I stayed for private reasons. I like District 12 and baking is the only thing I know how to do. It seemed natural to try to start a business."  
  
Private reasons, ha, that means love, I'm sure. But then I like that he seems not very keen on telling me the details. I reluctantly admit that Haymitch was right, Henry doesn't seem to be that bad. But he said it himself before, why should he help out a rival? As if reading my thoughts, I see the first signs of a small smirk on his face.  
  
"Miss Everdeen. I do this because I think my nephew will be much happier in a bakery than in a food factory. And when Mr. Mellark returns he might be willing to take him on as an apprentice. I know that he is very talented."  
  
I guess Henry wants his nephew to take over Walner's one day. But now, he can't afford to employ him, but at least they can be close. Henry promises me to call his nephew and I give him the number of Mellark's in turn. When Eric feels like it, he can contact me and if he agrees to my terms, can move to the district. All in all this sounds like a good idea. I hope that me and Eric can get along, but right now I'm honestly glad to have found a solution and would be willing to work with just about anyone. The realization that I'll never be able to save the bakery alone came quickly. Eventually I'll have to accept help from outsiders.  
  
I send letters to Peeta daily. I will write another this evening. I ask questions about the bakery and if he's okay with me being here, if he's okay with me letting strangers help.  He doesn't answer. I'm not happy about it, but I take his silence as a form of agreement. If he hated what I'm doing here, he would react. Haymitch must also tell him about the bakery, so if he really doesn't want me to do this, he has ways of letting me know. Convincing myself like that is hard. But there is no other way to continue, I have to believe that Peeta is okay with my decisions.

 

* * *

  
  
The rainy fall slowly turns into winter and Haymitch returns to District 12 shortly before the first frost. He reassures me that Peeta is okay, but stays vague for most other stuff. I pester him with questions about Peeta's state of mind, and also, because I just can't help but thinking about it, about the matter of sterility. Haymitch just shakes his head and more than once tells me it is not for him to tell me about these things. One evening he seems to finally have enough of me pestering him about it and he shouts at me, that whatever I like to believe, Peeta doesn't confide in him, either. That Peeta didn't want to talk to Haymitch at first and later didn't talk much. He's telling the truth, I hear it in the way his voice cracks. I have to accept that I won't get answers from Haymitch, because Peeta made sure he won't have them.  
  
Eric Walner arrives on a train two weeks later. He managed to get out of his contract with the food factory quite easily and my offer was more than generous as I don't want to be stingy when it comes to the bakery. Eric is a friendly guy. He is a man of few words though, and when he says more than three sentence, they are quite sarcastic. At first I thought I would let him move into the apartment. But for some reason I can't have him live there. He never met Peeta personally. It's just not right. So Eric moves down the road next to his uncle's bakery. While having someone who actually knows what they are doing is a great help to me, it is still tough for just the two of us. Eric is not familiar with District 12 and our local bread. Effie sends me a book with recipes from the Capitol and I'm deeply thankful for that. This book has all the details about the trade, pictures and drawings of instructions and I'm awe time and time again when I skip through the pages. It soon becomes our main activity, to check the book for recipes. The Capitol citizens had so many resources, so many wonderful thing we in the Districts see as a real treasure. For them it's nothing special, but for us it is.  
  
Eric and I take turns in baking and selling. I hardly find the time to hunt anymore, but do my best to at least write one letter a day. Peeta managed to do that, and post it in the Village when he kept the bakery running all on his own. When the people of the District notice that I finally have bread to sell, they start to come to the bakery, each day. More and more. The queues are the longest in the mornings and during lunch times. I get so stressed one day that I have to pinch myself in the arm, because I almost started to scream at a customer in front of me. At the end of that day I lie in my bed in the Victor's Village and cry myself to sleep. If I, who didn't get hijacked, react like this in front of the customers, is it any wonder that Peeta did? And strangely enough I also begin to understand Peeta's mother a bit better. Running a bakery under the Snow regime was much more restricting and tougher. I can see how one could get angry over burnt bread. I don't agree with her methods, and she was far from kind and nurturing. We didn't call her witch for nothing. Hitting her son is unforgivable, but in the end she was also a victim of the society she lived in.  
  
One morning in December I sit on my bed and stare out of the window. I can barely move, I've only returned to the Village at midnight yesterday. I should have been back at the bakery at four o'clock this morning. Now it is almost six and I can't bring myself to go. My phone rings and I know it must be Eric, inquiring about my whereabouts. If I don't answer, he'll probably assume I went to the woods. I haven't been there for weeks. Contemplating if I should not answer at all and roll back into bed, I wonder if I'm unfair. I have to go to work. Right now. The phone stops ringing and then starts again. Walking down the stairs in my pajamas I grab the receiver from the wall in my kitchen.  
  
"What?" I say, my voice scratchy and rude.  
  
"Katniss? Are you alright?"

It's my mother. Why does she have to call now?  
  
"Ma, I don't have time to talk, I have to go to work," I immediately put out a defensive statement, without waiting to hear what she wants.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry. I called you yesterday, but you didn't answer."  
  
"Excuse me? I was working until midnight, you know," I say sulkily, feeling like she is accusing me of dawdling my hours away by doing nothing.  
  
"I thought so, but Katniss I don't have your number at the bakery, so I couldn't get hold of you."  
  
"Mmmh," I grumble and reluctantly give her the number.  
  
"I don't want to waste your time, Katniss," she says meekly and that makes me feel bad. Why am I angry? She has done nothing wrong, only worried about me.  
  
"I'm sorry, Ma," I say, trying to sound genuine. "It's just…I'm so stressed at the moment. And…." and I'm worried about Peeta. Constantly. Not knowing what he is doing makes me crazy. Strangely my mother seems to read my thoughts.  
  
"Katniss, I want to tell you something about Peeta," she begins.  
  
"What is it Ma? Have you talked to him? What did he say? Is he coming back?" Giddiness spreads through every fibre of my being. It's been four months. Maybe he is healed? Maybe they found some medicine that could help him?  
  
"No, I'm sorry dear, it's not that. I just wanted to tell you that Peeta left the hospital a…a while ago." He left? A while ago? That can't be right, no.  
  
"Do you know where…where he went?" My voice is small, weak.  
  
"Yes, and that's the reason I'm calling. To give you his new address. The hospital staff gave me the letters you sent here when he was gone. Dr. Aurelius just called me and asked for them. I'll forward them to Peeta's new address."  
  
My emotions are mixed up. Peeta left the hospital.  But not to come back. This is not good. On the other hand, he must read my letters. Or else he wouldn't have asked Dr. Aurelius about them, right?  
  
"He lives in the Capitol now," my mother continues, and a small moan leaves me. I expected a lot of places. Mostly thought of him moving to another District, to be near people he knows and loves. But the Capitol? Effie lives there and her and Peeta, while getting along just fine, weren't exactly close. What's worse, he was tortured in the Capitol. This doesn't sound healthy.  
  
"Katniss?" I must've stayed silent for too long.  
  
"Ma, why? Why did he go to the Capitol?" Not understanding what made Peeta move there, I gnaw on my lower lip.  
  
"Dr. Aurelius has built a mansion on the outskirts of the Capitol after the war. It's off the beaten track, near a small settling in the woods on Mount Nebel, I heard. He does all his research there and…patients with a grave trauma can live together in a small community, receiving treatment and therapy. In the mansion a therapy center is open to all the residents for twenty-four hours. They live a self-dependent life, but are looked after by professionals when they need support."  
  
I'm silent. This is not what I expected.  
  
"Dr. Aurelius offered Peeta to come and live there for as long as he thinks he needs it. "  
  
And Peeta obviously took the chance. Dr. Aurelius. I'm not sure what to think of the man. He is probably even doing this for free as Peeta has no money left. Making a mental note, I decide to talk to Haymitch about it. We should dig deep and give the Doctor a wage. Dr. Leger told me he is a genius, so him taking Peeta in is an act of enormous kindness in my eyes.  
  
My mother gives me the details on where to send my mail. Judging by her description, I imagine the place to be quite beautiful. When we were in the Capitol we could only see the mountain range that surrounds it, in the far blue shimmering distance. Mount Nebel on the eastern side, could be seen on the horizon, the mountains stony slopes covered in spruces, not far from the lake area. Peeta surely enjoys being in this colorful place. We both thought the area surrounding the Capitol was breathtaking, but naturally weren't allowed to explore. That didn't keep us from imagining a trip to the countryside of the Capitol though.  
  
I say goodbye to my mother, but she stops me.  
  
"I know you don't have much time, but I want you to know that I visited Peeta. We didn't talk much. Sometimes he was asleep, but the nurses told me he was okay with me being there, even asked for me."  
  
Suddenly my throat feels constricted. My mother took time off to visit Peeta.  
  
"He asked me to hold his hand, before. I want you to know that this happened. I made sure to visit at least once a week."  
  
"Thanks, Ma," I say softly. She did that for me, I know. It helps to know that he had company, that he accepted a friendly gesture, a bit of motherly affection, maybe? I'm really thankful, and feel much more relaxed when she hangs up the phone. It feels like a little weight has been lifted from my shoulders as I make myself presentable for another long day at the bakery.

 

* * *

  
  
Only a few days later I'm having another crying fit, this time in the kitchen of Peeta's apartment. I finally got upstairs an hour ago and laid down on the sofa. But I can't sleep. Tossing and turning, knowing I have to get up again in only three hours. I need this, I need to sleep. But sleep, I can't. Instead I start crying for no apparent reason, hoping that I might pass out because I'm so exhausted. It doesn't work. Even the exhaustion doesn't help me. I stare out of the small window into the darkness of the morning and wonder if I'm getting depressed again. I have to do something, I have to stop this. Crying, staring into space, ignoring my hunger…all these are alarming signals. So I call Dr. Aurelius in the morning. We don't talk daily anymore, but when I need to I can contact him anytime. And so I do. He listens to my symptoms patiently and then begins with his usual questioning of my daily routine.  
  
"When was the last time you went hunting?"  
  
"November, I guess…"  
  
I know what he suspects my problem is. Living my life differently from before made way for an unhealthy pattern to emerge.  
  
"Did you follow through with your plan?"  
  
"What plan?" I wonder, exhaustion palpable in every question. My plan to run the bakery? He knows I'm doing it, it is all I talk about.  
  
"What did you decide last summer, after you took the placebos?"  
  
"I dunno," I sigh, "that I am honest with my feelings?"  
  
I don't know where he is going with this. Why does this man never tell me exactly how to improve, but insists on making me think?  
  
"Katniss, concentrate please. You wanted to get better. You decided to do something for yourself, something you love to do. As far as I remember you were quite excited about the prospect."  
  
I see myself in the woods after my breakdown. Singing loudly, feeling happy.  
  
"The choir," I murmur, a bit ashamed. I forgot about it.  
  
"That's right. You wanted to found one. What happened to these plans?"  
  
"I didn't do it," I admit.  
  
"Why?" he asks. But he knows the answer. Peeta got injured and then I planned to save the bakery. I haven't been able to sleep more than five hours for weeks, sometimes don't sleep at all. However I can never tell him that. I can't tell him that I simply don't have the time to hunt or to do something for myself, like singing with people of the District. If I do that, the bakery will fail.  
  
"The day simply doesn't have enough hours," I try to joke my way out of it.  
  
"Did you find your true calling in the bakery?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Think about it without consideration of the consequences and be honest. Do you love to work in the bakery? Does it make you happy?"  
  
I surprise myself by how quickly I tell him, "No."  
  
Then I gasp. I'm a selfish creature. Does it really matter that I'm not born to be a baker? Who cares, when it might make Peeta forgive me for abandoning him, when it might help him coming back here one day?  
  
"Even people who love their job, don't spend all of their time working. Humans need to get their energy from other activities, we need to relax. You have to sort out your priorities and do things you love. Otherwise you will burn out and Peeta will have lost the bakery and you."  
  
Dr. Aurelius can be quite blunt, when he is not asking cryptic questions. I like that. And something in this sentence makes my heart flutter. It's not like he tells me much about Peeta, but this almost sounded like he acknowledges that Peeta wants to come back, right? I try not to get excited and think about my situation once more. But I don't see how I can make the time.  
  
"Do you have a suggestion on what to do?"  
  
"Employ more staff. And before you start to object, yes, you can afford it. I don't need any money for treating Peeta from you or from Mr. Abernathy. So you should have more than enough to afford another helping hand."  
  
He seems insistent and I blush. I offered to pay for Peeta's treatment in the latest letter I wrote to him, also asking how much I owed him for my own sessions and he seemingly wants to address the issue right now.  
  
"Katniss, you and Peeta have done so much for this country, it can never be repaid, and certainly not with money. I will try my best to help you live a better life as long as I can, and it'll be an honor to do it.  Frankly I was a bit offended by your letter. Helping you two is the least I can do. It means giving back and I'll gladly do it until the day I die. This country, Panem, owes you two. Don't worry about it."  
  
"Okay," I reply, suddenly feeling very shy. I never thought that Dr. Aurelius thinks of me as anyone other than a wrecked, broken woman. He thinks highly of both Peeta and me, and that is something I did not expect.  
  
"Look after yourself. It is important that you don't connect your every move and sense of self to the bakery, Katniss. Take a step back and think. I want you to fill your life with as many fun activities as you possibly can. You'll go into your woods, you'll take your time writing letters and you will found the choir. Go out, meet people and sing to your heart's content. Remember our talk after the summer festival? You have to treasure yourself. Stop thinking that if you fail to be a baker, you failed in life. It's not true, and you know it."  
  
"Thank you, Dr. Aurelius," is all I can manage to say and he ends the call, because he has another appointment. I'm a strange person. He told me something similar before and I forgot most of it. He told me Peeta would need therapy all his life, but so do I. I'm glad that I have him to confide in.

* * *

  
  
Promising to visit the woods again is somehow easier than founding a choir. Where do you start when it comes to this?  
  
Funnily enough the universe decides to help me along. When I open the bakery a few hours later, Peatrice, one of the teenage sisters from the festival, is already waiting for me at the front. She holds a small bill in her hand and asks me if she can put it on the door. Turns out she is searching for a job. I decline and offer her a position in the bakery, which she gladly takes. Peatrice is a bubbly girl, and seems to have no problems talking to customers. Exactly the person I need, because honestly, I still prefer the back. I make her put on an apron and tell her to start immediately.  
  
I can barely believe my luck as I search in the small office for a piece of paper. Peatrice's bill made me think of creating one for the choir and putting it on the bakery window. This way people will see it when they come buying their bread. I rummage through the desk drawer, sinking on my knees to get a better angle to dig deeper when my eyes fall on a short red ribbon sticking out between the back of the desk and the wall. What's this?  
  
I pull on the ribbon and a huge leathern ledger slides out. Are these Peeta's recipes, the ones I desperately searched for months ago? I crawl under the desk and open it up. Inside I find a big folder and a small pouch including several pointed charcoals. I peek into the folder and nearly jump up in surprise. These are drawings of me. Made by Peeta. From when, I can only guess. They were cleverly hidden. I doubt anyone would have found them. At least I didn't and I turned every little thing around twice in this building.  
  
Peeta has drawn me before, and I've seen some of his paintings on the train, and he showed me another one in his house after the rebellion. A vibrant oil painting of me as a little girl in a red dress, singing the Valley Song. It was amazingly realistic and I remember the warm feeling around my heart when I saw it for the first time, realizing that only someone who loves me as much as Peeta could've created this. His memory was remarkable, he got me right to every little detail. And that had happened after the hijacking.  
  
The warm feeling I'm having this time settles further south. It's nude art. Peeta has drawn me naked. The topmost drawing is one of me in the woods at some river. It could be the one of our first games, but I'm not sure. I wear my hair in a braid, and the only piece of cloth covering my body are white cotton panties. My breasts are bared and slightly wet. I sit on a rock with my feet playing in the water, while I smile at the person who is drawing the picture. While it is sweet and innocent in a way, it also feels slightly erotic. There is the faintest blush on my cheeks and my nipples are raised, adding a sultry nuance to the drawing.    
  
"Katniss?" I hear Eric call, who must've arrived while I went under the desk.

"Why is there a strange girl behind the counter? And why did you decide to play hide and seek?"  
  
"Coming," I grumble and shut down the map with a slap, not wanting anyone to see this. I run upstairs with the ledger first and hide it behind the sofa. Then I return downstairs to work for the day. I explain to Eric that I hired Peatrice and he actually seems pleased. This will help us both, not only because we have less work to do, but because we need some sort of buffer between us. A third party will surely help in this. When I mention my plans for starting a choir both Eric and Peatrice are surprisingly hooked on it. I never saw Eric as a singer type of guy, but Peatrice has a bell-like voice. Both of them by my side will make it easier for socially handicapped me.  
  
I put the bill in the window and at the end of the day, seven members of our community want to join the choir. I find that to be a big success, but my mind wanders to the ledger upstairs. I can't wait for closing time and finally finishing up so I can look at all the drawings alone. When I read Peeta's letters I wondered if there was something similar to a love letter in there somewhere. Knowing that Peeta desired me made me believe that he might've written something lewd or racy. But he didn't. Rereading his letters is one of the things I still find hard, resulting often in crying fits. I read them all, some of them twice. Some are simple, easy to understand. Others I don't get at all. And he never wrote about his hidden desires, the desires he clearly had. Not in a sweet poem, nor in a mean, rude way, although he wrote things that weren't exactly kind.  
  
Am I invading his privacy by looking at the drawings? Hoping I don't, I find myself flushing deeply when I lay them out on the kitchen table that night. Peeta hasn't seen me naked, at least I don't think he has. His paintings are realistically drawn. He doesn't get every detail right, I have some scars he doesn't know about. My breasts are as true to my own as possible. The size, my aureolas, the peak of my nipples, the attention to small details is remarkable. In one picture I'm lying on a bed, on a white cotton sheet, and he has drawn me from behind. I gaze at the picture in wonder. My braid snakes around my back and I realize I have no idea if this is how my bare form looks from behind, but Peeta seemingly does. The girl on the bed is radiant. Each and every time he put charcoal to paper he created a breathtaking Katniss.  
  
I'm less than confident when it comes to the real me measuring up to this beauty. There are a few drawings that allow the beholder a frontal view. I guess that Peeta wasn't as sure about the triangle between my legs, and I smile at the thought. A dark patch of curly hair is what he imagined, but it's not that detailed. More like a shadow between my legs. None of the drawings have a dirty feel to them. They are not drawn to arouse the viewer. Why? For the same reason he never wrote a love letter?  
  
His actions made it clear that he still had feelings for me, and the maturity of the drawings hints that Peeta wished for more than a quick rump between the sheets. Does he feel this way still? Or did that rainy September afternoon destroy it all? If Peeta comes back and wants to be with me, I can't see us falling into each others arms. I see painful conversations about sexuality. Having sex with Gale didn't help me much, the whole sex topic still makes me uncomfortable. Sometimes I wonder if I was any good in bed, because I didn't always enjoy sex or craved for Gale, making it less intense for both of us maybe? Did I do it wrong? I have no idea. While I can talk to Dr. Aurelius about the darkest, most hateful thoughts I had, talking about sex is impossible and I avoid it. It's even hard to think of it. Shame is my foremost feeling when I masturbate while I imagine Peeta and me making love, because I'm afraid that I'm using him for my own selfish urges. Even if it is only in my private imagination. Carefully I put the drawings back into the map and hide them behind the sofa. I think of putting them back to their original place, but I can't bear Eric or Peatrice accidentally stumbling upon them. No, they have to stay up here.

 

* * *

  
  
Lilla Garland is the Mayors oldest daughter and heaven sent. The woman arrives in the bakery one morning and offers us the town hall for choir practice. She has a background in education, is the school's current music teacher, so she happily takes over some of my responsibilities in helping us getting sheet music and organizing the dates for practice. Our assortment of songs is quite impressive. We practice twice a week and when the first snowdrops start to bloom in the meadow our catalogue has become something to be proud of.

Mayor Garland loves all things cultural. He was the one behind the summer festival and is the driving force for another big event in May, the spring dance. It's not only about dancing, but also focuses on music and our choir will have the first public performance there, a week after my twenty second birthday.

 

* * *

  
  
I try my best to go to the woods every morning. Writing letters to my friends around Panem again - to Hazelle, Effie and Johanna - also keeps me busy.

During one of my hunts I witness something that makes me feel on fire and embarrassed at the same time. While I've seen countless rabbits coupling before, I never witnessed wild horses during the mating season. Watching a beautiful white stallion mount a chestnut mare in a sunny clearing makes me so flustered, that I forget to check my snares that day. Returning to the bakery all hot and bothered I have a hard time concentrating, the image of the wild animals still in mind.

What is happening to me? I touch myself every night, thinking of Peeta. Even the shame cannot stop my hands from wandering beneath my slip, from seeking out my swollen folds as I imagine him thrusting desperately, taking me deeply from behind, similar to the horses in the woods. These thoughts are new and awkward. I never thought of this position before. Why would I want something like this? It's only making me hornier, greedy for more friction and I bite into the pillow to silence my cries of Peeta's name when I come.

 

* * *

  
One evening the telephone rings in the bakery and the person on the other end of the line gasps after my cheery cry of "Mellark's bakery, Katniss Everdeen speaking. What can we do for you today?" and immediately hangs up.

Every hair on my neck stands up. It was Peeta, I know.

Feeling giddy and happy I look forward to another call for days, pushing Eric and Peatrice out of my way as soon as the phone starts ringing, only to be disappointed that it is not him.

Why does he not want to speak with me? Is he afraid? But I am, too! He must know, and I tell him in my letters that he can call me anytime, at night if he wants.  If he doesn't want to talk, I would be happy only staying silent together, if he wishes to.

* * *

  
The day of the dance arrives sooner than I like. While the choir members all reassure me that we are good to go, I'm nervous about standing in front of an audience again. Hoping that the stage fright won't overwhelm me, I look around the town square. It's not dark yet, but the festival committee has placed soft pink lanterns at every house of the town square, giving the place a romantic touch. When we take the stage a mighty cheer can be heard from the townsfolk. The view from the stage is magnificent and I wish I could take a picture to keep this memory for myself. We start our arsenal of songs and I forget the time or the place or the fact that everyone who wants can see the Mockingjay standing on this stage, at the very front, too. I'm glad that Plutarch Heavensbee obviously wasn't informed. There are no cameras. The forty five minutes are gone so quickly, I can hardly believe it is over. I wish, we could sing more. This is hardly enough!  
  
The crowd is ecstatic and we actually receive standing ovations. Lilla and Eric laugh and every choir member has a huge smile on their face. I see Haymitch in the crowd with his arm around Ermengarde Leger. Henry is actually smiling and meets my gaze winking. I also make out Drew Cartwright in the crowd, beaming at Peatrice on stage. He visited the bakery more often after she started to work with me.  
  
Love is in the air at this year's spring dance.  
  
My heart aches for Peeta. I will never give up hope that he's coming back one day, my dreams these days are of his return mostly.

Every day that goes by makes it feel more unlikely that he's ever going to appear in Twelve again. He never replied to my letter, or called again.  
  
I hope he is out there in Panem at a place where he can be happy and finally be at peace. That's all I want, all I'm allowed to hope for.  
  
When I asked Dr. Aurelius about him I always got the same answer for months. A few weeks ago Dr. Aurelius sounded a bit different when I inquired about Peeta. My impression after that call was that he must have left the institution. I hoped and wished for him to return to Twelve, but as the weeks went by no Peeta appeared, so that little hope got quenched.

Peeta must have left the Capitol to live somewhere else in Panem.  
  
Lilla and Eric tell the crowd how happy they are to be here tonight and thank everyone from the heart. Lilla catches my gaze and nods her head to the microphone, but I just shake my head. I'm too shy, too afraid. My days talking in front of a crowd are long gone. Peeta was always the one good with words anyway.  
  
Peeta.  
  
"Wait a minute," I hear myself say, before the choir members shuffle down the stage.  
  
Eric looks pleased and steps away from the microphone to let me take over. I don't know what came over me, but I suddenly feel the urge to talk to the community of District 12. It's not the same place I grew up in, most people are new settlers. But they helped me out when I was at my weakest, helped me through dark times. I want to tell them the truth, my truth.  
  
When I step in front of the microphone, I'm not sure how to start. I'm bad with words, bad at moving the masses. Am I? I mean, did people really follow someone who is unable to open her heart? No, they did not. I'm not weak. I can do this.  
  
So, I open my mouth and start to sing:  
  
_Down in the valley, the valley so low_  
_Hang your head over, hear the wind blow_  
_Hear the wind blow, dear, hear the wind blow_  
_Hang your head over, hear the wind blow_  
  
_Roses love sunshine, violets love dew,_  
_Angels in Heaven know I love you,_  
_Know I love you, dear, know I love you,_  
_Angels in Heaven know I love you._  
  
_If you don't love me, love whom you please,_  
_Throw your arms 'round me, give my heart ease,_  
_Give my heart ease, dear, give my heart ease,_  
_Throw your arms 'round me, give my heart ease._  
  
_Build me a castle, forty feet high,_  
_So I can see her as she rides by,_  
_As she rides by, dear, as she rides by,_  
_So I can see her as she rides by._  
  
_Write me a letter, send it by mail,_  
_Send it in care of Birmingham Jail,_  
_Birmingham Jail, love, Birmingham Jail,_  
_Send it in care of Birmingham Jail._  
  
As the last note leaves me I feel a lone tear trickling down. I stop and look at all these kind faces in front of me.

No one says a word. No one claps. They simply look back at me and give me strength by doing me this favor, by letting me sing for them.  
  
"Hello," I begin, still feeling kind of shy.

"My name is Katniss Everdeen. I'm twenty-two years old and my home is District 12. In another life I was known around Panem as the Mockingjay, a symbol of the revolution. Now, the people of Panem live in peace and I thought I wasn't needed anymore. But you, each and everyone of you helped me find my place in life again. I thank you all from the bottom of my heart. You might know me as the girl who hunts, the girl who found the choir, or the girl who has found an unhealthy obsession in writing letters. They are all true. But I'm also the girl who runs Mellark's bakery. During these last months you have been an enormous help to me. I simply couldn't have done it without help. I'm forever indebted to you all and I hope…."  
  
I stop, tears flowing freely now.

I can't look at anyone's eye, so I stare at the horizon where the sun is setting in the most beautiful orange.

Peeta's orange.  
  
"That was ' _The Valley Song_ '.  It's an old song, from before even the dark days. My father taught it to me. We were always singing at home, always. The first time I sang in front of people had been on my first day at school in music assembly. Peeta Mellark told me during the 74th Hunger Games that this was the day he fell in love with me. You might've seen it on television."  
  
No sound can be heard from the town square. It's like everyone is collectively holding their breath.  
  
"Back then, I didn't believe him. I thought it was strange that he'd remembered something that happened eleven years ago. But he did. And since that day Peeta Mellark has saved me and my life more times that I can count. He was abducted by the Capitol. Tortured. Wounded."  
  
I swallow. This is hard.  
  
"After the war, I thought I could forget. Leave my scars behind and start anew. Sadly, it didn't work out that way. Not for me, and not for Peeta. Everyone who knew or visited Peeta in his bakery knows that...that he got worse. His mental health deteriorated. This all goes back to the torture in the Capitol. I…I want to ask you all to forgive Peeta for what he said and did during these episodes. He might've hurt your feelings. If you want to blame someone for this, blame me. He got tortured because of me. Got his brain and heart damaged because of me."  
  
I sob and I hear sniffles all around me.  
  
"I might overstep my boundaries, but I want to ask this of you anyway. If Peeta comes back to District 12 one day, it would make me extremely happy to see him treated like you all treated me, Katniss Everdeen. With love, kindness and forgiveness. He…he…deserves it. More than I ever have. Please, do that. And don't stop coming to the bakery. I promise we won't raise prices, if you do…."  
  
I add the last bit as a joke, as I'm not sure how to end this speech. I want to be sincere, but I also don't want to expose too much about Peeta's problems.

The atmosphere isn't as cheery as before, and I receive a small polite applause after I step away from the microphone. I find Haymitch's face in the crowd and see that his eyes are red. And so are Ermengarde's. So there are at least two people who are convinced by my sincerity. The sun disappeared by now and I slowly make my way down the stage to make way for Mayor Garland who will hold another little speech and introduce a local band for the dance.

 

* * *

  
  
My speech and the Valley Song did touch people's hearts, because everyone who visits the bakery tells me so and they reassure me that they are sure that Peeta will return. Everyone seems to wish he does, and I'm glad. In the weeks after the spring dance the bakery is unusually well frequented. Me, Peatrice and Eric take turns at the front and at the back, but it is mostly me doing the sales after a while.  
  
"It's a sales argument," Eric reminds me one afternoon. "People want to help, and they love to see your face. Want to see you succeed."  
  
Shrugging I start to sort a new roll of freshly minted coins into the register. "Don't you want people to come because they love the bread?"  
  
He laughs. "They don't. No offense, hon'. We all know you're not born to be a baker. And me, I'm simply average. That's okay though, Uncle Henry needs some customers, too."  
  
I grumble and watch him leave for the day. That guy is getting more and more sarcastic with me.  
  
"Do you think I can go home too, Katniss?" Peatrice asks and grins so dumbly, I immediately know it must be connected to Drew.  
  
"Yep, sure. I can manage alone," I tell her with a look through the window.  "You better hurry, we're in for a real downpour, if I interpret the clouds correctly." The sky is colored pitch black, and I can see some lightning in the distance. Small drops are already splashing against the bakery window.  
  
"What about you?"  
  
"I'm certainly not going home tonight, I'll sleep here."

If a storm is coming, I need to stay here. I need to protect his bakery.  
  
Peatrice leaves and I watch her go, fighting with opening a pink umbrella on the street. Thinking of calling Dr. Aurelius later, I start to feel sorry for myself, in need of comfort. Peatrice and Drew are teenagers. They seem to be in a carefree relationship.

Suddenly I'm angry at that stupid storm. I want to go home to my pearl and now I can't. Entering the back, I check the oven and curse my lack of hindsight as I start kneading dough for the last batch of rolls for today. I left the pearl in my drawer, afraid that something would happen to it. If I carried it around and lost it….no, I would hate myself. I want to play with it. And then I want to lie down in bed and touch myself. Thinking of Peeta. Are his eyes still as blue as the sky in summer? And his beautiful hair, does it still shine golden in the sun?  
  
Mellark's is a popular place, because a storm doesn't keep the customers away. Selling, baking, smiling at people, I wish for nothing more than to simply close the bakery. I could go upstairs and take a shower. Perhaps later. I clean the oven door, thinking of my plans for the evening. I could also read in the brand new recipe book Effie sent me for my birthday. Or look at his drawings. Take them out from behind the sofa…  
  
The cheery ring of the doorbell rudely pulls me from my daydreams. I swear, only this customer and then I'll close for the day.  
  
"Coming, I'll be right with you," I yell in my friendliest voice. I grab a towel and dry my hands as I walk through the door to the front.  
  
"What can I do…" I say, only looking up now, "…..for you?" I finish in a low voice. I feel my mouth hanging slightly open in shock.  
  
I told my myself I would never give up hope.

As the months went by and I never heard back from him, I slowly began to accept that he wanted and needed something else. Something different than this. Than me. It hurt. Maybe I needed this pain, because now I'll never take this wonderful feeling of lightness and hope for granted. I feel as light as a feather in this moment. Strangely strong, too.  
  
Slowly I rub my eyes, still afraid that I might be dreaming.

No, I shouldn't have doubted.  
  
"Peeta?" I whisper, "Is that really you?"  
  
He smiles at me, looking less than confident. His smile is shy, sweet and…. unsure? My eyes start to fill, and against my will hot streams of salty liquid are burning down my face, turning me on fire.  
  
"Hi Katniss," he says, voice wavering. My boy with the bread looks around the bakery, his bakery. He looks healthy and steady but there is something strangely vulnerable in the way he stands there.

Lost.

His blue eyes seem to be shimmering. Is he crying or are these raindrops from the thunder storm outside?  
  
"Is….it…is it okay for me to be here?"  
  
His gaze meets mine again, searching for acceptance.  
  
A small whimper escapes me. Of course, it is okay. It is more than okay.  
  
"Yes," I sob and run around the counter, almost tripping over my own two feet. "Yes, yes."  
  
In this moment nothing can stop me from having contact, from making sure he is really standing here. Not asking for permission, I simply act on my emotions, nearly jumping into him. Wrapping my arms around his torso, I press my hands flat on his back, bury them in his jacket. He is soaked from the rain, but warm. Oh, so warm. And now that I'm near him that warmth wraps around me like a blanket. Did he grow taller? It's been almost a year. I breathe in deeply. Peeta's fragrance is one of cinnamon no longer.

He smells earthy, like the woods. Like the meadow after a thunderstorm, like fresh rain.  
  
His strong arms embrace me, his body is wrecking with heavy sobs, their contractions not stopping him from accepting my form entirely. He is squeezing me against him so tightly it hurts. I welcome this beautiful pain with all my heart. Close again, close to my love.  
  
"Welcome to Mellark's bakery," I whisper, pressing a soft kiss on his ear. "Welcome home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The time span for this chapter is a year, so a lot of ground had to be covered and I already left out two scenes I originally wanted in this chapter. Dividing it into two also seemed wrong, because another chapter without Peeta would be grating. It is quite interesting to see Katniss struggling some, trying to find a place in life and, yes, even grow up a little at the ripe age of twenty two, right? 
> 
> Think of it as a transitional chapter. Peeta is mostly absent, but maybe you found some enjoyment in reading anyway. 
> 
> The lyrics of the Valley Song can be found [here](http://thehungergames.wikia.com/wiki/Songs). These are not official lyrics, but SC didn't write any for that particular song, but funnily enough they really fit The Red Letter Box, don't you think?


	9. Sender: Delly Cartwright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a year since I started writing The Red Letter Box. I never would've guessed the story would become such a long fic, the initial plan was 5 chapters maximum. And I'm still not finished! Anyway, thank you for your patience. I apologize that this took so long. Enjoy Chapter Nine, Sender: Delly Cartwright.

Time, Space, Panem, yes, the whole world lost its meaning while I stand here in the bakery crying my heart out in Peeta Mellark's arms. There is nothing but him and me and the sounds of our broken sobs echoing in the small shop. A thunderous roar outside makes me jump, but Peeta holds onto me as if I am his lifeline. I hope I am, as I know he is mine and I will never let him go now. No matter what, we belong together. There is no doubt, I'm going to walk to the Capitol and back for him. I will fight for Peeta or die trying. We belong together, our lives are connected, there is just no other way to be. I'm stupid, so stupid. So much pain could've been prevented. It took pain, so much heartbreak to see that there is no way for me to live other than with him.  
  
We both stopped crying and I lean back a little to look at him. We're still embracing, his blue eyes are shining red, and a little line of snot is running out of his nose. Out of mine, too. We're both a mess. Already the uncomfortable beginnings of a headache appear. It's been a long time since I cried this way. And never when I felt so happy. It's cleansing.  
  
Peeta doesn't look as healthy as I first thought. His body is in good shape, I saw that before. He is stocky, strong muscled, but his face has some fine lines that weren't there a year ago. Peeta is just twenty two. A young man. He has been through so much in his life, so this is probably natural. All this torture and all this pain left traces in his face that have nothing to do with scars. I don't care about any of this. Peeta could've lost both of his legs, turned deaf, blind or blemished. I would search for his beautiful soul through all of these unimportant outward appearances to be with him.  
  
Peeta sniffles and I stand on my tiptoes and lean my head up slightly for a kiss. It might be rude, it might be assuming yet it has to be done. Peeta sees it coming and lets it happen. It's not a sensual kiss, simply a sweet colliding of two sets of lips that haven't met each other for over four years. I know I want more, my body wants more. To be perfectly honest I would push my tongue into Peeta's mouth, coax his own out and undress my boy with the bread immediately. I would peel off his wet clothes and ride him on the floor, show him that I love him in every sensual way possible. But I'm not that stupid or hormone driven. It's a bad idea. Peeta kisses me back shyly. It reminds me of the kisses we shared in the cave, when both of us, or I at least were still new to all of this, never touched a member of the opposite sex in any way and clumsily acted it out for the camera. Suddenly I'm afraid that I'm doing something wrong, making a big mistake so I take a step back and look on the floor, blushing. I'm usually not that forward.  
  
"Oh.." Peeta whimpers softly after my lips leave his. I don't know if he realizes that this kiss is as awkward as those we had as teenagers. I look up and see that my actions are confusing. He seems disappointed and I curse myself. What have I done?  
  
"I'm so sorry, Peeta," I say, trying hard to sound stable, "I don't know what came over me. Please forgive me."  
  
"What are you sorry for?" he says with a sad smile. "What should I forgive you for?"  
  
I give him a long look, not sure what to say, but then decide that I'll be as honest as possible from today on. Peeta deserves the truth.  
  
"For assuming. For moving onto you like this, kissing you without asking. That's what I'm sorry for," I repeat my reasons out loud.  
  
Peeta still looks at me with that sad, defeated look in his eyes. "Don't be sorry. Thank you."  
  
Why does he feel the need to thank me? I'm happy that he's okay but… is he only telling me what he thinks I want to hear? Normally you don't thank people for kissing them, right?  
  
We look at each other and chuckle awkwardly. This reunion came so unexpected. I have nothing planned. Peeta is still dripping wet, looking cold.  
  
"Come on in, come in," I say, pointing to the back room, feeling stupid. This is his bakery, his building. Not mine.

"Would you like to take a shower? You must be tired, right? Or do you want to go to your house? I planned to stay here tonight, because of the thunderstorm. I'm not sure when it's going to blow over. Or would you rather be alone? Then just let me get my stuff from upstairs and then I'll leave.  You can relax on the sofa if you want, I'll leave. It's still raining though. Where is your luggage? Are you hungry? When is the last time you have eaten? When do you want me to come back? Or..maybe I shouldn't? I must tell Eric that you're back though…"  
  
I don't even know what I'm talking about anymore. I'm babbling nonsense and Peeta starts to look at me with a hint of desperation in his eyes.  
  
"Calm down, Katniss," he says gently, "You don't have to leave. My luggage is still at the train station. They'll bring it to my house tomorrow. It's a little wonder the train made it to Twelve in this weather. I didn't think it would, or I would've called beforehand. Actually I wanted to go to my house first…but the light was still on here, so I couldn't just walk past. And it doesn't seem like it's going to let up soon. Seems like a good opportunity for a long talk, right?"  
  
I nod. It really is.  
  
"Upstairs?" I ask and he nods. I let him lead the way. He looks around curiously while he walks. I haven't changed much here, so he must feel right at home. On the other hand I feel like an intruder, like I had no right meddling in his business. I'm torn. It needed to be done, but maybe I should've just employed people and stayed as far away from the bakery as possible. I'm scared, so afraid of what he is going to think of my business decisions. But even more I'm nervous about that long talk. What is going to happen now?  
  
We climb upstairs, and I feel my hands getting sweaty. I'm skittish and nearly run into Peeta when stops in the small kitchen.  
  
"Would you like some tea?" I can't help but ask. He looks around the room as if he's here for the first time. Suddenly all I can think of his the folder with his drawings which is tightly tucked behind the sofa. Do I have to tell him I looked at them? I can't really put them back downstairs and pretend I never saw them. I study the wall behind Peeta while he clears his throat.  
  
"Oh," I stumble back into reality. "Don't you want to sit down?"  
  
"To be honest, maybe it would be best if I take a shower. Don't want to catch a cold, first thing back home, you know."  
  
Home. He called Twelve home. I don't dare to hope, but that must mean….I catch his gaze for a second and then look away immediately.  
  
"Yeah, sure, yeah..you can use whatever shower gel or shampoo you find in there. It's mostly my stuff. I got it from the Capitol, so it smells weird…I mean, maybe you like mango and cream, but I don't know about that."  
  
I'm babbling again, look at the wall. Why am I so afraid of meeting his gaze all of a sudden? I also lost all skill at a normal conversation, it seems. I have no idea what I'm saying and I hate myself for acting like a total fool in front of Peeta.  
  
"Katniss," he says, and I feel myself calming down at the sweet way he calls my name. "Please look at me." His voice is quiet. It's still raining outside and I can't help but remember that the last time I saw Peeta, it was also in the midst of a downpour.  
  
I look up at him and he is smiling slightly, but there is still something forced in this.  
  
"I know this is hard, awkward for both of us. But before…before we..I…." he stops, for a while, unsure. "Let me just ask one question."  
  
"Sure," I agree in a voice that betrays more confidence than what I'm feeling inside.  
  
"Are you…do you…" This question, whatever it is, must be incredibly hard for Peeta to ask. He hasn't sit down, hasn't even taken off his jacket and is nervously clenching and unclenching his fists. I try to give him a reassuring smile, but I think it failed as he looks back at his boots after meeting my gaze for a second.  
  
"Are you disgusted by me?"  
  
I can only stare at Peeta. Disgusted?  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"You…this is hard. I mean, I read each and every letter of yours. But you never…I mean, you never mentioned that time, like…..I'm not sure if I can do this…." Peeta's cheeks are pink. He is the one who can't meet my gaze anymore. He read my letters, though. All of them. My heart is about to burst with joy.  
  
"It's natural to be grossed out. You must be. It's just…I don't have any excuse for what I did. And I'm deeply ashamed by it." He keeps staring at his boots, all confidence gone from his posture.  
  
Peeta is wrong. I mentioned the incident several times. Told him that I understand. But I know that I avoided it also. I never spent much time on the details. Never openly called what happened by name, only told him he doesn't have to worry about it. It seems that this vague mentioning of it has agonized Peeta. He probably was able to read between the lines, but he needs to hear it from me face to face. My face is growing hot and I slowly shake my head.  
  
"I'm neither disgusted or grossed out. I'm equally at fault for what happened. I invaded your privacy that day. I never should've entered your house like this. It's not like you gave me permission. You thought you were alone, in a safe place. In a place where you never expected an intruder. What you did, it's natural. I…" I probably won't be able to get much redder than this, but I keep talking, "..do it too. And did it before. When I'm alone, unobserved. I think everyone does. I never felt any disgust about your actions, Peeta."  
  
I look at him, straight into his eyes and his mouth is slightly open but then shakes his head.  
  
"But what about…?" He shudders.  "I called your name. And what I told you after I…," he stops, searching for a word, "after I ejaculated. That must've really scared you. Please don't lie."  
  
Peeta chose the most clinical word he could think of. Is he trying to detach himself from the act? Or is this use of vocabulary connected to his long stay at the hospital?  
  
"I'm not lying, Peeta," I plead, hoping he'll understand. "Back then I wanted to repair our relationship. What you said and how you hurt yourself was horrible. But I'm not the victim here. You were the one who suffered the consequences. I'm sorry. I should've left after I first realized you were in the house. And if not then, then after. You wouldn't have gotten into such a state if I'd left sooner."  
  
"You're not disgusted?" he asks again, to reassure himself.  
  
"I'm not. It's the truth, believe me, please."  
  
He nods and sighs to himself.  
  
"This is very important to me. Thank you for your honesty."

He laughs, a bit forced. "I'm going to shower and I'd love to have some tea later, but…"  
  
"No sugar," I interrupt smiling, " I remember."  
  
He smiles back and turns towards the bathroom.  
  
"Wait," I say, " I have some of your clothes here in the bedroom drawer. Would you like some comfy slacks, or maybe a pajama for sleeping?"  
  
Peeta looks at me strangely, "You kept my clothes?"  
  
"Yeah, sure. The ones you left in the closet are still here. Why shouldn't they be?"  
  
Peeta slowly shakes his head. "No, that's alright. I just assumed…no, it's great, actually if you could get me some comfy clothes. My suitcases are still at the station, so.."  
  
"No worries," I say and get him something to wear. Why is he so surprised that I left things as they were in here?  
  
I leave the clothes on the floor in front of the bathroom door and go back to the kitchen. Tea. Yes, he wants tea. But that can't be all. He must be hungry. And there are some cinnamon rolls left. I used a recipe from Effie's book and they turned out alright. They were not exactly a favorite of the people of District 12 and I'm somehow embarrassed by the quality, but I want Peeta to have something sweet and homely. I remember that he also loved hot chocolate and I have some in his kitchen here, another present from Effie. I kept it carefully hidden away, for a special occasion - not knowing what that occasion might be. I never indulged myself in little pleasures like this but the thought of drinking hot chocolate and eating cinnamon rolls with Peeta is too wonderful. No, I won't pass up this opportunity. I don't know if Peeta wants to continue going down this painful road tonight, if he wants to talk more about his year away. But if he does we should at least have some sweet treat to help us get through it.  
  
I warm up the milk and prepare two plates with the rolls, arrange it on the table around a bunch of flowers I got from the woods earlier today. My hands are sweaty and I realize I feel weird. Peeta is back. He is really back! He is here. To stay? I sure think so. And he seems to be okay with kissing. I should be happy. I should be ecstatic. While I feel all these emotions others like wariness and fear creep up on me. Nothing is certain. I'm not sure what will happen next. Peeta coming back home was my goal since I took over the bakery, since I read his letters. And now? What's next for the two of us? I know, I can't let uncertainty begin here. I have to be honest and I need Peeta to be honest, too. A small cough from the left makes me start, Peeta has finished showering.  
  
"Hello.." he says and a small giggle leaves me against my will. _Hello?_  
  
"Hello," I answer. "Have a seat. In celebration of your return I went all out and made us this treat of hot chocolate. If you want tea, I can make that, too," I say, nervously. How am I supposed to act around him?  
  
"I love hot chocolate," Peeta grins and sits down. "Are these cinnamon rolls?"  
  
I fidget around with the cocoa powder. How was that supposed to work again? Powder first? Milk first?  
  
"Yes, cinnamon rolls," I answer distracted. "They are not that good though…"  
  
"I like them," Peeta smiles at me sweetly and bites into one he picked from the pile. I'm almost transported back to the day in the bakery, when Peeta made that baguette and I was cold, mean and hurtful to him. Tears of shame spring into my eyes. I don't want to appear weak and swallow hard while I pour the milk over the cocoa powder. I had been so horrible. Vengeful, evil. I had wanted to hurt him and I have no excuse.  
  
Smiling I turn around and hand him his cup.  
  
"Katniss," his face falls. "You're crying. Did I say something that upset you?"  
  
"I'm not crying," I whisper but my tears betray me. "It's just…" I stop. I don't know how to apologize. For my weakness. For not being there for him. For turning to Gale, for breaking his heart.  
  
"Peeta," I say, "Remember the day of the festival? Last year? When I sprained…my ankle?"  
  
He nods. "Yeah, I remember. You didn't really sprain your ankle, did you?" His brows are scrunched up and he studies his cinnamon roll closely. What should I say now? My Peeta is back home and the first thing I bring up is that evening. The evening I would give all my riches for, if I could have it deleted from my own personal history.  
  
"Maybe. I don't know. I mean, I do know but…" I sniffle. "I must apologize about the way I acted around you after…after everything really. I wanted to hurt you. I know this sounds twisted. And I am. I probably am. Peeta, I was so angry at you. It pains me to admit this, but I couldn't handle your rejection…couldn't handle it at all. It made me bitter to the point of seeking revenge, of wanting you to suffer. I couldn't accept it. I mean, I had trouble accepting that you didn't want to be close to me. And I didn't know what to do. I have no experience when it comes to this…."  
  
Peeta still doesn't look at me, traces the swirled cinnamon pattern of the roll with his fingers.  
  
"When I read your letters I began to understand what made you turn away, but before that…" Suddenly I know I must lay it all on the table now. I have no other choice.  
  
"I love you," I say and he finally meets my gaze. I read wonder, surprise and even a hint of suspicion in them so I hasten to explain.  
  
"I loved you for a long time. I cared for you since that moment in the rain, when you gave me the bread. The circumstances changed, you know how it was, in the games. I couldn't afford to think of romance. Being forced to marry, I only realized years later why it hurt you so much, back then. When you were held prisoner in the Capitol, those were unbearable weeks for me. And when you came back, I did everything wrong. Handling the hijacking, I wasn't prepared…I wasn't and instead of trying to help, trying to do what you would have done, really what a decent person would have done, I turned away. When Prim died…"  
  
A lump forms in my throat. It is still so hard to talk about her. Yet here I am, so many years after she is gone with the only other person in this world that I'm sure I love. If I can't talk to Peeta about her, who else is there?  
  
"Prim is dead," I press out, "And I was ready to go, too. To be with her."  
  
I'm not explaining myself correctly, I realize. Why do I have to be that bad at talking. I can't even confess my love to Peeta without making it all about pathetic old me. Why should he even be with me?    
  
"You helped me, kept me company, brought me back to life. I couldn't have done it without you. I was so in love, but yet…I was too immature back then. I didn't understand. I thought after all that we've been through, now was our time to have something real. I loved you then, and I never stopped. That's why…" I don't know what to say anymore. Not wanting to bring Gale into this is also harder than I thought. Does Peeta want to hear about my relationship with Gale? Or would he rather not? My eyes find his, pleading now. I can't read his face. What does he think? Does he think this is a half hearted bullshit confession? Is he confused, does he feel the same?  
  
"You don't have to answer, I'm sorry. You've been barely here for an hour and I dump all this on you, I'm really an idiot," I struggle to explain, embarrassed by myself.  
  
"I love you, too," he simply says, as if it's the most natural thing in the world, and I feel warmth spread through me. He loves me.  
  
"Never stopped." He smiles sadly. "And the idiot…well, I'm the idiot. Certainly not you. I knew, Katniss, I knew how you felt. That we were getting closer. There was one evening in the bakery, when we nearly kissed. I never had been happier, but then Haymitch interrupted us. Do you remember?"  
  
I often mused about that evening. If I could've imagined him leaning in. If it all had been happening in my dreams.  
  
"You read my letters?" he asks. I manage a nod.  
  
"Not all of them, though," I confess. "I burned some of those earlier ones."  
  
He chuckles darkly, "Doesn't matter. In those from the beginning I had been writing what I thought you wanted to read. I think, only when I realized that you were indeed not reading them, I began to truly open up. I wrote these letters more for myself than I did for you. I never would've thought you'd keep them. Or read them. The thing is, Katniss, when you wrote to me that you've read them all I was so deeply ashamed I couldn't bear to face anyone, not even Haymitch. What I didn't realize was that I had already embarrassed myself much worse. More than those letters ever could. I hadn't been upfront with you. You say that you're in the wrong, but it's the opposite. To be honest, I've counted on you reacting the way you did. Instead of…fighting for us, I was the one who took the easy way out by avoiding you. It gave me momentarily relief. I was blind. Please, Katniss, I know it is hard but will you forgive me for turning away from you?"  
  
I have already forgiven him if there is anything to forgive. I know he is not at fault for this. I'm not sure how to answer his plea though. Part of me wants to exchange forgiveness. Tell him I forgive him if he forgives me for turning to Gale. But my relationship with Gale is something different and I'm not sure Peeta should forgive me for it, or if it was a sin at all. Although I didn't love Gale the way I do love Peeta, Gale gave me something I needed desperately at that point, affection and most importantly the feeling of still being someone worth loving. I felt desirable and even happy, not like that horrible woman that Peeta accused me of being. I shake my head to clear it.  
  
"Why did you, though? I know that that night with Buttercup made you relive your torture.."

Peeta winces, and I stop. I don't want him to feel uncomfortable.  
  
"That was a catalyst, that's right," he answers, "Back then, I was afraid of getting closer. You and me, we were heading in that direction, there was this chemistry, this excitement. I never felt it that sharply before. I've always wanted you. Still….to know that you also did, and that it would happen, that there was going to be an _us_ , us as a true couple, that's when it suddenly became real to me. It became clear that I wasn't as happy as I thought I would be. Wasn't a relationship with Katniss Everdeen the one thing I always wanted, my eternal wish, finally fulfilled? I became afraid. Insecure. If that _us_ was what I really wanted, what you really wanted."  
  
He looks me straight in the eye, "Katniss, what I tell you now are things I only know now, after I've spent long months in treatment. The hijacking is only in part to blame. I turned away from you because I wasn't confident. I was afraid of being in a real relationship. One that was only us, with no outsiders meddling. I wasn't sure if I would be able to handle it. There is something inside of me that always tells me that I'm not good enough. I've managed to fool most people with a carefree exterior facade, but deep inside it looks very different. I've never been shy but it took the threat of imminent death to tell you what I've been feeling for years. When you told me that you've acted in love with me for the Games, in that moment, I saw clearly what I knew all along. That I had been right, not telling you before. That there was no way you would've come to like me without these extreme circumstances."  
  
"Peeta," I whisper, hurt. I cannot undo this. What does he want to hear from me now?  
  
"I'm not blaming you, believe me. This is all about me. My own insecurities. Through the torture and the hijacking every bad character trait of myself was brought to the light, tenfold. Fear is a powerful weapon, Katniss. And they managed to instill a deep, haunting fear in me. The fear of being hurt, the fear of being not good enough. It had always been there before the Hunger Games. So I began to think that I'd rather stay alone for the rest of my life than getting hurt. I decided that it was the best way to deal with the situation. Dr. Aurelius told me I was wrong, that running away from my fears was wrong. Deep down I knew this, too. But it was such a relief to not be constantly scared. My desire for you was getting more urgent back then. So I decided that the only way to get rid of these feelings, was to get rid of you. I was counting on you to…. move on quicker. It took all the strength that I had to turn you away when you persisted, didn't stop visiting me. When Greasy Sae died…this is shameful, but I saw this day as the perfect opportunity to do something you wouldn't forgive me for. I refused to comfort you and then…..to be honest, I never really thought it through. We avoided each other, but were still neighbors. I distracted myself with the bakery. In these months I became insufferable. I had to let Elmar and Coraline leave because I couldn't pay them anymore, but I suspect they were glad to leave. It wasn't fun working with me during these days."  
  
Elmar didn't mention this when I talked to him on the phone, but he seemed very understanding when I told him about the hijacking and Peeta's stay in the hospital. I don't know what to make of this confession, though. Peeta was afraid of a relationship with me? That's why he erased me from his life?  
  
"Keeping my distance from you made me bitter, mean, and…aggressive to certain extent. I started having these violent outbursts. Feelings of wanting to hit something, destroy….stuff. One evening I saw you and Gale walking through the Victor's Village, hand in hand….that night, I lost consciousness for a while. Had a real blackout. The next morning I woke to see the storage room destroyed. Flour, sugar and various expensive ingredients from the Capitol, vanilla, cinnamon. I had destroyed it all. I realized that night, I made a mistake, a horrible mistake, turning away from you. I don't blame you for your relationship with Gale, even thought it would be good for you to move on. I had talked myself into believing that this was the best for both of us. In truth, I couldn't stand it. It made me burn inside, the thought of the both of you together….I…"  
  
He grips his empty cup tighter. I shiver.  
  
"So you saw us together and decided to start writing to me?" I ask.  
  
"Yeah, something like this. I thought if we'd be friends once more, I might be able to suppress my desire for you. Because keeping the distance didn't work, it only made me think of you more, want you more. I thought that seeing you again might cure me of my love - or even my hate. Then we started to talk and I thought, this is not so bad, this can work. You remained cold to me, but I could more than live with that. But…coming to terms about seeing you with Gale stressed me out badly."  
  
"But, Peeta, you seemed so normal. I mean, you were so kind and…well, frankly I was shocked when I saw you in the bakery, losing it around the costumers. Because you were always so calm. You should have talked to someone. I understand that it couldn't be me, but why not Dr. Aurelius or Haymitch?" I muse aloud.  
  
He gives a short laugh, "Oh, Katniss. I learned the hard way to pretend. I learned the hard way to laugh, when I'm really crying inside. Growing up in the Mellark household taught me good to never show weakness. Or what my parents deemed weak."  
  
He shakes his head, "These were patterns that had been in my life long before I had been hijacked. It is hard for me to accept help. After a while I found myself in a vicious cycle and couldn't think clear. I didn't want to hear Dr. Aurelius' opinion, I didn't care for Dr. Leger's advice. I was running away from them, too. Because I knew I made awful decisions and was afraid to face the fact that I had screwed up. Became someone I didn't even recognize anymore when I looked into the mirror. Everything that made me Peeta Mellark, everything I had been good at, I was losing my grip on. I've always loved interacting with others, talking, helping. But after a while I became suspicious of people who only just smiled at me. I thought _'What do they want from me?'_ I started to question everyone's motives, even in the bakery when people obviously came to buy bread. These were many alarming signals, that should have had me running to Dr. Aurelius much sooner.  But I didn't. It was a mixture of shame and the feeling that these doctors would never understand and that I would be better if I'd handle the problems myself. It all kinda blew up that day, when I injured myself. It would've happened anyway, I had been living dangerously close on the edge for months. I feel horrible that you had to be at the receiving end, witnessing this, seeing me like that. On one hand I am deeply embarrassed about that day. On the other I'm glad that I only hurt myself. I've spent many nights wondering what might have happened if my leg had been attached, if I'd realized you were standing there sooner."  
  
His face becomes darker, true signs of anguish beginning to show.  
  
"I'm afraid of what I might've done, Katniss. I've had thoughts, fantasies…that are far from romantic. I know why now, I've spent long hours with various therapists to get to the bottom of my agression, and I know how to control it. There are some things I can't talk to you about. Not now. Maybe never. It took a long time to face this myself, I'm not ready to face it with others and especially not you," his voice is firm and final for that last part.  
  
I'm actually not sure I even want to know. There are many things that I've thought about I would never want anyone to know about. Even Dr. Aurelius. I think there is a certain darkness in every human being, and that there are thoughts and feelings that are not meant to be shared with others. I don't blame Peeta and I tell him that.  
  
"You've told me more than I'd ever thought you would, so that's okay," I smile hesitantly. There is so much more I want to ask him. I want badly to know where we stand. If there is going to be a couple Katniss and Peeta from today on. If he is ready at this point or if he needs time. I think of the best way to ask this loaded question, when Peeta stands up and walks to the window.  
  
"Looks like the worst is over out there. I think I'll go to the Village now," he turns back and smiles at me. "Do you wanna come with?"  
  
"Yeah," I say, standing up and putting the dishes in the sink. "It's getting late, and I need to get up early so if we're going back it should be soon. You must be exhausted."  
  
"I am, that's true," he says.  
  
We go downstairs and I make my usual round when I close up the bakery while Peeta watches me curiously. That strange feeling is back. The feeling that I took something of his and started to transform it into mine when I had no right to it. My hands twitch nervously when I reach for an umbrella at the door and we step out. It stopped raining heavily, but the umbrella is still needed.  
  
"Do you want to link arms?" I ask and feel as shy as a twelve year old probably would feel if they asked their crush to hold hands for the first time. Awkward. "I only have one umbrella and I don't want you to get wet, you know…" I defend myself. Gosh, he must really think I'm a complete fool.  
  
"I'd love to," he says and holds out his arm. I slide in mine and we walk, arms linked, back to the Victor's Village together.

 

* * *

  
  
Peeta studies his surroundings with wide eyes. Not much has changed during this last year. A few new buildings have been added to the town, but Twelve remains a small district. There isn't a lot of good, exciting work to be found here. The mines are hiring, but now that people actually have a choice, naturally there are very few candidates who consider a career in mining.  
  
I tell Peeta all about the bakery, while we walk. Tell him about Eric and Peatrice and our adventures in trying out new recipes. Then I proceed to tell him about the customers. Only when we reached the gate of the Victor's Village, do I realize that Peeta's replies are all monosyllables.  
  
"Like I said earlier," I try to catch his gaze, "I usually start working at six. Would you like to come in around ten? You can meet Eric and Peatrice, get to know them. After the morning rush, sounds good to you?"  
  
"Mmmh," he says. "I'd like to visit Haymitch and Dr. Leger tomorrow. Or do you think he's still awake?" He searches Haymitch's house with his eyes as we approach his door. I take out the key and hand it to him.  
  
"Nah, he's probably sleeping in town anyway," I snicker, "He basically moved in with Ermengarde, yet always tells us he won't be able to live with her, when he obviously does. He only comes to his workshop for work, barely sleeps here. Now that I think about it, the Victor's Village has been quite abandoned lately. So, when do you think you can come by?"  
  
"Do you still go hunting in the morning?" he asks, while he unlocks the door and steps in, motioning me to follow inside.  
  
"Yeah, but not every day" I say, not following. "I think I better get going, like I said, getting up at five. What about one o'clock? Lunch rush is done by then."  
  
He turns to look at me, expression unreadable.  
  
"I'd like to go into the woods tomorrow," he says, "Around ten at the meadow, okay?"  
  
"Oh, yeah, okay," I affirm, wondering. The woods? Doesn't he want to check out his business as soon as possible?  
  
"Good night," he whispers, but makes no move to close the door. Before I can overthink the situation I move forward and kiss him on the lips quickly. So quickly that I don't even register if he kisses back.  
  
"Good night, my Peeta," I blurt out loud and smile so widely it must look like a grimace. Peeta smiles gently. He is really back. With a spring to my step I run back to my house, the weird little grin never leaving my face.

 

* * *

  
  
I wake up with a gasp. For one short moment I am disoriented, the bed, the house - all seems unfamiliar. I haven't been sleeping in this bed for quite a while. The soft mattress, the cuddly pillow, everything is a far cry from the hard sofa in Mellark's bakery.  
  
Mellark's bakery.  
  
Peeta.  
  
I stand up and see on my alarm clock that it is already half past seven. I've slept in. Groggily I walk to the window and check out Peeta's house. No sign of life. He must be asleep. He is back, isn't he? It has not been a dream, right? On Peeta's porch I see several pieces of luggage, suitcases and a backpack. So it wasn't a dream.

I grin, turn around and run into the bathroom. He is really back! Back with me. And he wants to have me all to himself, it seems. Why would he want to go hiking or whatever it is that he wants to do in the woods? A slight blush is visible on my face when I check my reflection in the bathroom mirror. _Whatever_ he wants to do. I should hold back with the dirty thoughts. I still don't know about his physical condition. While Peeta revealed quite a lot about himself last night, I have a feeling he carefully avoided this particular topic. I've been wondering about this for a while, but I won't mention or ask him about it. Peeta has to address it himself when he is ready.  
  
Nevertheless I want to look my best when we go to the woods today. I think of wearing a dress for him, but then I have no idea what he has planned. Maybe he wants me to hunt for dinner. My usual hunting clothes are my best bet. I wash up and shampoo my hair with my favorite brand from the Capitol. I put my hair in a practical braid and find myself singing the Valley Song, when a sound from outside demands my attention. It's Meredith, and he brought me several letters. The day keeps getting better, still.  
  
Downstairs I grab a two day old cinnamon bun, chewing on it unenthusiastically. I wonder if Peeta will make cheese buns again. They did not work out well when I made them, and Eric had never heard of something as weird as _cheese buns_.  
  
"Cheese and buns?" he had asked, looking at me as if I'd suddenly grown a second head. "What's next, carrot cake? The taste of these people…."  
  
It seemed the idea was abstruse to him. I giggle, thinking of his face. Peeta and Eric will get along fabulously. Eric has a great sense of humor and so does Peeta. I'm sure they'll become friends sooner than later. I'll probably reduce my hours or leave the bakery completely after a while. Four people working there is just a tad too much, I suppose. We would stand in each other's way.

I'm a bit sad about it. Working with Peeta would have meant spending more time with him and this is what I want. Badly.  
  
I open up the red letter box, and find letters from my mother, Hazelle, and to my great surprise from Delly Cartwright. I began to write to Delly when I started out writing and the responses were disappointingly sparse. Delly is a girl who loves to chatter endlessly, so I was sure she would reply with long letters. I was wrong, Delly actually dislikes writing. Her letters were usually short descriptions of the weather in whichever District she moved to. I don't remember which one it was, as she probably didn't even mention that.

When I told Drew about his sister's letters, he laughed.

"Delly is actually a mathematical genius, but ask her to write and she starts sweating," he cheekily told me one afternoon, in the bakery, "You should feel honored that she obviously cares enough about you to reply. She never writes to me."  
  
I decided to stop writing long letters to her that day. I didn't want her to feel pressured into answering, when writing letters obviously wasn't her idea of fun.  
  
When I open the letter to read it, I'm surprised to see she has written several pages. I start to read. She tells me she is well, and that she is happy that Drew and I became such good friends, because she does worry a lot about leaving District 12. She met her match, a guy called Marty, and before they could even talk about marriage, she was already pregnant. I stare at her neat characters, shocked.

Delly Cartwright is _pregnant_.

A girl I went to school with. Who is actually the same age as me and Peeta. People my age are getting married, have children. I don't know why this comes as such a big surprise to me. I was forced into engagement at seventeen, I was supposedly pregnant at seventeen and nobody raised an eyebrow at that time because of my age. But still…I feel that Delly is too young, that we're all too young for adult life. Taking care of babies, no, we just left school, yesterday. I continue to read, fascinated, until I come to a part where Delly tells me that Peeta visited her for a while.  
  
_'…Drew told me that you're worried about him, but he seems better and I want to let you know that he is alive and well. There is nothing worse than not knowing where your loved ones are, if they are okay. So I think I owe you this. I have a feeling he will be back home soon. He was always talking about Twelve, about home, about you.'_  
  
Oh Delly. A tear drips down my face. I'm glad that Peeta and I have a friend like Delly left. Someone who knew us before the Games and the war. She constantly watched out for us and I'm happy for her and her future. I swear to myself that I'll keep an eye on Drew, for her sake, do everything I can to ease her worries.

When you start to have a family of your own, does your first family become less important to you? I wonder if my relationship with Prim would have changed if I'd gotten married or pregnant. If Prim hadn't died or even if my mother would've come to live in the Victor's Village with me, I probably wouldn't have given up on Peeta that easily. I wouldn't have turned to Gale in these dark hours.  
  
Carefully I put Delly's letter into the desk drawer in the sitting room. I don't want to think of Prim today. I want to think of Peeta and our future together. I want to enjoy the happiness while it lasts. I want to be with my boy with the bread, finally be completely honest with him. I grew up a lot last year. I am much stronger than before. Strong enough to be there for Peeta in every way.

I'm ready to take care of him, ready to love. I have regrets and I'll never get rid of them, but I swear I'll only focus on the future.

Our future.

 

* * *

  
  
Peeta stands on top of the mass grave that is the meadow. Here lies his family, burned to ashes. I am silent as I approach him, considering letting him stay unaware of my presence for a while, but he speaks, "Hi Katniss."  
  
I startle. He turns around and smiles.  
  
"You heard me?" I say, a bit miffed. Where did my famed silent approach go?  
  
"I sure did," he grins. "Don't look so angry. I had practice."  
  
"Practice?"  
  
"Yep," he says. "Come with me." He holds out his hands and I feel a sweet warmth rush through me at the contact. We are actually holding hands! I can feel his body temperature, his fingers playing with my thumb, holding onto me and I can't help but think of his fingers interweaving with mine while he makes love to me, with slow but powerful strokes. I shake my head quickly, hoping he didn't see my flush. Just simply being in his proximity has me becoming a glowing, drooling mess.  
  
Peeta takes me to the edge of the meadow where one pillar of the fence remains standing. Mayor Garland left it here as a memorial, so that future generations would never forget. I suppose it makes sense. Right now the memories are still fresh though. At least my generation will never forget.  
  
Peeta stops. "Where did you usually go in?" he asks.  
  
"I didn't have one specific place. The whole fence was off, so we changed those spots. Gale said.." I immediately let go of his hand, slapping my hand over my mouth. I'm such an idiot. I didn't think and mentioned Gale. Shockingly this situation is similar to the one over a year ago, when I was more than just careful to never mention Peeta's name in Gale's presence.  
  
Peeta takes my hand again, "Gale said?" he urges.  
  
"Well, he.." I stutter and he squeezes reassuringly. "He said it would be better to change the spots so we didn't leave trails behind."  
  
"Makes sense," Peeta agrees.  
  
We walk into the woods and I feel my hand getting sweaty in his.  
  
"Katniss," Peeta says and his voice is swallowed by the lush greenery and trees. "Don't be afraid of saying what you think. Don't censor your thoughts with me. I can handle it. Saying I don't care that you've been with Gale would be a lie. It would be a big lie. It happened. It's over. I can live with it. You can talk about him. It's okay."  
  
"Is it really?" I whisper. He nods.  
  
"I understand. You were moving on. I would have done the same."  
  
Done the same? No, Peeta would have never done what I did. Yes, he rejected me. But he told me yesterday that he was ready to live a life alone, without someone holding his hand. If I'd rejected him - and I have rejected him in the past - he wouldn't have searched for love elsewhere. A horrible thought worms itself into my heart and I feel the beginning of the same irrational jealousy I felt when Johanna bared her breasts in front of Peeta.  
  
"Did you?" My voice is barely audible. I've never been so scared of receiving an answer. What if he is here to simply say goodbye?  
  
He stops and gracefully sits down on the mossy ground. The sound of the woods are loud in my ear, I hear a woodpecker, numerous birds, I even make out the sound of a rabbit a few bushes away. The sun is scarcely shining, the ground still muddy from the thunderstorm. Drops of rainwater fall down from the leaves.  
  
Peeta was always so loud. So very loud. And now…he didn't make one little noise. He is as silent as Gale, as me.  
  
"No, I didn't. I've tried. I've tried very hard. There are many reasons why I couldn't. I'm not sure I want to go into them now." His blue eyes find mine.  
  
"Let me say this: I'm here to stay. There is one thing I realized when I tried to live elsewhere. Twelve is my home. Or, well, my home is where you are. I want to be here. With you, if it's possible."  
  
His eyes flitter away from my face and he begins to pick away small patches of moss from the stump. I walk over and sit next to him, taking his hands into mine again,  
  
"More than possible," I say, happily. "It's all I ever wished for." I lean closer, heart beating wildly, eyes closing and our lips meet. It's hesitant and sweet at first, but my body can't help it, as soon as I'm near Peeta's, this wonderful warm man, I feel the need for more opening my mouth slightly so his tongue can meet mine and play with it a little. A small moan leaves me when Peeta pulls back.  
  
"Too soon?" I whisper, afraid that I've moved too fast.  
  
"Mmmh," he mumbles, looking into my eyes. I look back into these deep pools of blue, wanting to stay here forever.  
  
"I'm glad that you feel this way," he begins. "But I can't kiss you, can't start something with you, before you can see the whole picture. Before you know what you're actually getting into."  
  
I nod. There are so many things left unsaid.  
  
"I had a lot of time to think about my life in the hospital, and it didn't take me long to realize that I have to change," he begins. "Actually I could've left the hospital and gone back to Twelve as soon as three days after I was hospitalized."  
  
Three days?  
  
"Wha..?" I can barely believe it. Peeta could've come home after three days. And it took him a year. I know he went to get treatment, but that doesn't explain weeks at the hospital.  
  
"My mother told me she visited you," I say, confused.  
  
"Yeah, she was very sweet. I didn't talk much, because I was in pain. I got a new leg in the hospital."  
  
"Oh," is all I can manage.  
  
"It's permanent. The one I had before, I could take it off. This one is the newest technology. It's wired into my nervous system, and actually feels like the lost, real leg. It's like I've never lost it in the first place. To get it done was a painful and hard procedure. Several doctors were involved, it took weeks of tests and several surgeries and - it is expensive. It took more money than my parents made their whole life in the bakery."  
  
A small bunny eyes us suspiciously from behind a tree. I almost reach for my bow, but hold back when Peeta continues.  
  
"You remember when I stayed with Dr. Aurelius after the rebellion? They offered me this new leg back then. Told me it would change my life and all. Still it was so expensive that I wouldn't have a single coin left, so I decided against it. My wish was to get back to you as soon as possible. And I dreamed of opening up a new bakery. I knew I needed that money. Thinking about it now, this has been the first real adult decision I made on my own, and I chose my profession instead of my comfort. But the prosthetic began to hurt. Some nights I could barely sleep, it was itching that badly. I told one of the doctors and he offered to look into the procedure again. We all agreed it should be done soon. My body had fully grown, so it was a good time. And the bakery…as much as I hate to admit it, I was failing badly. I tried to give a fair wage to Elmar and Coraline. They wanted a home to start a family, they needed money and lots of it. So I paid them much more than I was able to. The prices, gosh, I was such an idiot. I wanted everyone to be able to afford my goods, I never wanted anyone to feel like they couldn't buy at Mellark's, that my bread was only for the rich. When Plutarch Heavensbee came with a camera crew, I thought, well, I'd use my popularity. People would come to my bakery either way. But they didn't. I got into trouble, Katniss. So much trouble. And when I was stressed, I started to lash out. At Elmar, at Coraline, at Haymitch. I'd wanted to employ Henry Walner when he first came to Twelve, but I couldn't. I thought he would leave the District. I'd never dreamt of another baker starting his own shop. Then I got angry at the customers, who also went to Henry, feeling irrationally betrayed. I had given up my leg for a dream that was crumbling all around me."  
  
My eyes are burning with uncried tears. I hate that I ignored Peeta at that time. He needed me. I could've talked to Elmar or Coraline at least, but everything that was connected to him hurt too much, resulting in my avoidance of even the building, not walking the very street - afraid of running into him.  
  
"The new leg is fantastic," he continues. "It's definitely worth this much money. But now I'm broke. I could sell my house, but I've talked to Effie and a few people in the Capitol who work in real estate. No one who could actually afford it will buy a house in District Twelve's Victor's Village. Actually, that's a problem for all the former Victor's Villages. No one wants to live there, so selling is out of the question. There is only one solution…." he stops.  
  
"First when I got your letters, I refused to read them. Not only was I scared of you being disgusted, I thought you'd never read my letters, so why should I read yours? But the hospital is boring. You sent me my books and stuff and even Abee," he sniffles, "when I got that package I knew I was being unfair. And I was extremely curious. _What is Katniss writing all the_ time? _She probably won't write endless letters saying how much she hates me_ …this is what I thought."  
  
My hand twitches. I make out a small squirrel in a tree to our left. Not much meat on that one so I leave it be.  
  
"Then Haymitch came to visit. First I refused to see him. Haymitch and you are always on the same page, on the same side. I don't know why, but I felt betrayed by him. But he actually came to see me every day, so after a while caved in and talked to him. He told me that you took over the bakery. I was stunned into silence. That night I read your letters and all those that followed. You were describing everything so skillfull. I could almost smell the bakery. I love the way you write, how your words touch my heart. You are a talented writer. However I remained scared. I had already signed the papers, the treatment had started. There was no going back. The bakery is not mine anymore, Katniss. It belongs to the Bank of the United Districts of Panem."  
  
A small sob leaves me now.  
  
"Oh, oh," I moan, momentarily dizzy.  
  
"I'm so sorry," he says. "I left you to work there, thinking you are doing it for me when you really weren't. However long it may take, I intend to pay you back, Katniss. Don't think you did it all for nothing. It means the world to me, knowing you protected this place. But it is important that…you have to know… it's no longer mine."  
  
A tear sneaks out of Peeta's eye. I shake my head, tears running down my face, mirroring his. The bakery…not Peeta's anymore? That can't be possible.  
  
"Dr. Aurelius talked to me a lot and refused to let me go back to Twelve after my release. _So where should I go_ , I asked him. He took me with him to Mount Nebel in the Capitol. I've lived there for 9 months. Healing, facing my past, facing my issues and..facing a new future. A future in which I am not a baker anymore. I did some real soul searching over there. The institution is situated in the wilderness. There are woods like this one there. And I thought…well, I was always interested, fascinated by your skills in the woods. They saved our lives in the Hunger Games. Your hunting, and your strength. When I was younger I often imagined myself next to you. We could go hunting together, you and me. I started to read everything I could about animals, searching for tracks, making bows and arrows, every book I could get my hand on. And started to go into the woods, using all that knowledge. I even slept out there a couple of times. I'm pretty good now, even if I say so myself."  
  
This is all too much for me. Peeta sold the bakery. Peeta started to hunt. What is that supposed to mean? It makes no sense. I imagined our new life together last night and everything I dreamt about has turned into an obtuse version of that dream. Of course, I want Peeta to do what makes him happy. If that's hunting, so what? He lost his clumsiness with this new leg. He studied, and probably is a good hunter. It's not that hard.  
  
But in my head there is only one man I go to the woods with to hunt. It will be forever connected to Gale. Gale is the dark silent hunter, Peeta is the golden cheery baker. I don't want Peeta to become Gale, and this seems dangerously like it. Peeta doesn't say it, but the way he talked about imagining us going hunting together, makes it obvious that he thinks that Gale plays some weird part in this. I'm scared that he might think he will only have a place in my life if he takes over what Gale represented to me. It's not hard to admit that this thought makes me sheer crazy. Peeta doesn't belong in the woods. He belongs in his bakery and nowhere else. I don't give a flying shit, if his bakery belongs to the Bank of Panem or whatever these people call themselves. They have no right to take money from Peeta for something that the Capitol has taken from him.  
  
They have stolen Peeta's leg. They have stolen the lives of his parents and brothers, they have stolen the original bakery. By no means can they take this from him, from us. I won't allow it.  
  
"You don't look too happy," Peeta says, and he is right. I've been gnawing on my lip, probably wear a scowl on my face.  
  
"Sorry, no. It's just all so confusing," I answer. "Do you think…I mean, how would we survive if the two of us hunt only? It seems…"  
  
"You haven't seen me hunt, yet," he chuckles. "Like I said, I'm sure I'll surprise you."  
  
Maybe he is right, maybe he will. I mean, I never would have thought I could manage the bakery on my own, but now I do. I know how to do it. And in this moment I realize that I can't give it up that easily. I remember a call with Dr. Aurelius. Taking Peeta's hand into mine, I shake my head to clear it.  
  
"Peeta, stop thinking about the bakery as property for a moment. Just close your eyes and try to relax."  
  
He looks at me curiously, but then his eyelids flutter close.  
  
"Do you enjoy being a hunter?" I ask.  
  
"Yeah," he answers, obviously unsure of where this is going.  
  
"Does killing animals and skinning their bodies make you happy? Do you want to spend your days in the woods searching for them?"  
  
His eyes shoot open. "What do you mean?"  
  
"I'm asking if this is really what you want. If you're a hundred percent sure that this is the thing you want to do."  
  
If he really wants to stop being a baker I won't hold him back. Peeta has a right to be whoever he wants to be.  
  
He looks at me suspiciously. "I don't understand," he says.  
  
"There are several reasons why I enjoy hunting so much. First it was a necessity. Making sure my family survived. Then it also started to become fun. It was an escape from the district, a time for myself, being free, out of the Capitol's grasp. Hunting itself isn't that much fun nowadays. I still enjoy it, but mainly because of the nature. I think, I might even prefer to be in the bakery on some days. Especially when it rains."  
  
"I…but..."  
  
"Whenever I smell the fresh bread, I feel at home. It excites me to try out new recipes. And talking to the people in town, seeing them every day, even this has lost its frightfulness. Every day is different. A few weeks ago I actually frosted a birthday cake for a girl that turned twelve. I'll never have your talent for it, but the girl came to the bakery a day later to thank me. For the cake and for the fact that her twelfth birthday is just simply a happy day that calls for celebration instead of a day that marks the start of a life in fear."  
  
"Katniss, I really enjoy hunting..." he starts.  
  
"But you don't love it," I complete his sentence. "You love to bake. It's not only a hobby it is your life's passion, right?"  
  
"I don't know," he answers. "Maybe not? I mean I was born into this profession. It's just what I did all my life. That doesn't mean I have to be a baker, that I'm forever stuck with it. I can do other things."  
  
Peeta really does protest too much. Standing up, I hold out my hand so that he can get up.  
  
"Let's go," I simply say.  
  
"Katniss," he begins again, ready to argue, I assume.  
  
"We're going," I insist, smiling. "The people of District Twelve have been waiting for your return. For the day they finally get to enjoy that famous Mellark bread again. We're not going to admit defeat. What District 12 wants, District 12 gets."  
  
A flicker of hope starts to appear in his blue eyes, and I feel happy that I'm the one who helped ignite it. And I mean what I say. I'm confident that Peeta will find joy in the bakery once more. He has me. And I will never give up working towards the goal of achieving this bliss for my boy with the bread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peeta and Katniss avoided talking about the injuries that Peeta's self destructive episode in Chapter 6 created - but be assured it is not forgotten, it is important. Very important. Stick with me. Next chapter I promise!


	10. Sender: Johanna Mason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear. This was a tough one, I can tell you. I take my time with this story, it is really hard to write, but I hope the payoff is worth it. It's fun, but not easy. This chapter is the chapter of truths. I struggled with it, contemplated changing the plot but in the end I decided to stick with my original plan. This remains a dark story. Sorry.  
> Please enjoy (if you can) Chapter 10, Sender: Johanna Mason.

My hair has grown longer than I've worn it since my childhood. Even then, holding my father's hand on the first day of school, it hadn't reached the length it has these days. I haven't cut it since District 13, since before… the fire bombs. I let it grow so that the bald patches would be hidden. When I realized that the patches were gone and soft black hair started to grow there instead, I contemplated having a radical change, going as far as asking for advice on how to cut it myself from Effie, who sent me a bunch of old Capitol magazines for hairdressers.    
  
The idea of leaving the braided girl called the Mockingjay behind was a tempting one. People often recognize me - because of my braid. With a short bob they surely would stop looking at me. In the end I didn't cut it and when I found Peeta's drawings behind the desk in the bakery office, I knew what had kept me from doing it. I had been sad that he didn't write any love letter to me, but these paintings…they were a different kind of love letter.  
  
The detailed drawing of my every strand makes me believe that Peeta is fascinated by my hair. In the sketches I often wear it open. Or in a complicated braid, a loose ponytail - the one I often sported in bed on the train. More than once I'm portrayed with those two braids I wore as a girl, both ending at my bared, peaked nipples. This seemed too much of a coincidence. Maybe Peeta has some sexual fantasies that involve me with long, wavy hair? I'm glad I didn't go through with it in the end.  
  
My locks end shortly before my bottom cheeks. Slowly I begin to divide the strands with a silver brush. The brush is actually one of the the many convenient goods that came with my house in the Victor's Village. Everything was indeed provided for. Not only for me. My mother and Prim also got their own sets of toiletries, nail clippers, ribbons, even perfume. It came with a price, but I'll never forget the looks on their faces. Prim was so excited about a beautiful sea-blue ribbon, enamored with a small silver shell. Some small part of me was happy that I'd won. That I had survived to see that look on her face.  
  
Then I remembered Rue and Foxface, Thresh, even Cato….and the smile left my face. I spent the last year with Prim moping when we should've laughed together. If I'd only known what was about to happen. I would have tried to hide my pain better. She had worried about me, too much. If I'd only known… Tears are forming in my eyes and I shake my head. I've got to stop this. Crying won't bring her back to me.  
  
There had been a few fun evenings, a few memories that make me smile. One time she wanted to go all out and tried herself as a hairdresser. She had been talented in that stylist area, the more girlish activities seem to come easy to her. One day she would have fallen in love. Would have been more interested in her own looks than in mine. Sniffling, I gather a big chunk of hair from the top center of my head, right above my forehead. The braid I want to create is complicated to make on your own. I haven't tried to style myself for years, as I didn't feel like I had to.  
  
Tonight I want to look my best. Sighing to myself, I grab onto a dark brown hair-clip to keep the odd stubborn strand out of the way. I'm nervous and that is not good. Can't expect Peeta to be confident, if I don't show confidence myself.  
  
He's been back for a week. I took him to the bakery after we talked in the woods and as I had thought his eyes began to shine when he went into the back area, where Eric baked some District 10 speciality. Eric and Peeta immediately warmed up to one another, Peeta being very social, easing Eric's nervousness away.  
  
They went into an light conversation about baking and I admit I felt a little jealous at seeing them talking about their trade. Peatrice, was more withdrawn. She is a talkative and nice girl, but while Eric never met Peeta she had known him before, and was maybe a bit afraid of him still. He was nothing but kind, but she remained wary.  
  
Peeta went back to his house and that was when they started to pester me with questions about the future.  
  
Would I stop being a baker? Would Peeta replace me? Would we all work together, or would they be laid off?  
  
I could only tell them that we hadn't decided yet. I couldn't tell them about Peeta selling the bakery. I was still in too much of a shock. If I'm honest with myself, I still am. I don't know what to do. Would Peeta tell me for how much he sold the bakery? Maybe I can buy it back. My finances aren't as gloomy as his. If it isn't enough, my mother could certainly help me, lend me money. I could also ask Haymitch, who has his workshop and probably would be more than willing to help us out.  
  
But - and that's the most important question - does Peeta want the bakery back?  
  
Even if he does, I feel that there might be potential conflict between us, if I'm the owner. I'm more than willing to give it to him as a gift. I protected the place for him. I never thought of it as mine, only ever his. Or maybe, in some weird small way, as ours. I don't want to become Peeta's employer, even if it's in name only. He is the one whose eyes grew misty at the prospect of rebuilding his parents shop. He even gave up his new leg, because he wanted to do this when he came back.  
  
We go hunting together, and while Peeta certainly wasn't lying about his skills, I'm afraid that he puts his energies into this because he believes that the bakery is lost to him forever. I can never accept this though. I'm certain there is a way, even if I can't see it at this moment. I'm planning a call to Dr. Aurelius for advice. He has treated Peeta and knows about his situation. He always encouraged me when it came to keeping the business running. At a time when Peeta already sold it. Maybe he can help me out.  
  
Not tonight, though. We have plans to go to a small lake in the woods. Peeta wants to try out some fishing techniques he learned about in the Capitol. It's not the lake my father used to go to, but the one nearer to the District.  
  
Everything about this scenario screams romance to me. Me and Peeta on a blanket near the lake? This is the opportunity I've been waiting for. We exchanged a few hesitant kisses last week, mostly pecks on the lips to say hello or goodbye. I want more, much more.  
  
At the moment I would also be more than happy with kisses that last more than a few fleeting seconds. Giddiness overwhelms me, as I have a feeling that tonight might be the night to finally get closer. Sadly, Peeta still seems to be unsure and shy. It's been so long since we've been together, close physically. I feel like a different person, but I cannot for the life of me remember if Peeta had always been so distant and nervous before when we were close, when things got more physical between us. Our most passionate kiss in the Quarter Quell happened over five years ago. I still remember it, quite vividly. But maybe the kiss how I remember it did not happen at all - it might be a romanticized version of a memory. I could get videos of the Quarter Quell, but I couldn't stand to watch it. Mags, Finnick….there are too many horrible memories, I'd hate to relive.  
  
There is no sister, no girlfriend, no one left I could ask about boys. There is no doubt that this awkwardness, this hesitancy is somehow related to Peeta's injury, but I realized years ago with Gale, that I'm actually pretty clumsy when it comes to romance. How can I seduce him, make him feel relaxed and wanted? He turns away so quickly when I start to lean closer, I have no idea what to do. In my desperation I wrote to Johanna. She was the first person that came to my mind when I thought of sexy seductress. And the way men, including Peeta, reacted to her….She just oozes self-confidence and sex-appeal. And I trust her. So I timidly mentioned that I could use some advice. There hasn't been an answer so far, but I anxiously check my red letter box every morning, awaiting that letter from my dear friend.

* * *

  
  
We make it to the lake in just fifteen minutes. Peeta's new leg is a wonder for sure. I tried to jokingly suggest for us both to go swimming, to check if it works underwater but Peeta shrugged it off, looked embarrassed for one second and then mumbled something about scaring off the fish if he goes into the water. It makes me sad. He is being so guarded around me. For some reason, he can't relax entirely and I leave him to hunt for a bit, but when I'm out of sight I lean against some tree and breathe out deeply. This is obviously not a trip that will end up in a make-out session, quite the opposite. Peeta has things he wants to tell me, I can feel it. Without enthusiasm I look around to get some herbs to rub on the fish. If he catches one, that is.  
  
When I return some time later, he has surprisingly not only caught a fish, he also got a fire going with the help of some charcoal he obviously brought along, but I didn't notice him carrying. Peeta is so into the survival business, it honestly baffles me. And he's good at it, which irritates me for some reason.  
  
"Hey, you," I say handing him the herbs and he looks up to me, smiling.  
  
"Hey," he says, and begins to sprinkle them on the fish, " I got a big one. This will easily satisfy our hunger."  
  
"Easily," I rasp back, strangely aroused. I get down next to him and lean over for a kiss. He gives me short peck on the lips and then slides away. He looks away quickly when I try to catch his gaze, however I notice that the look in Peeta's eyes is helpless, frightened and I immediately shrink back as if he'd struck me. I don't want to feel like I'm doing something that makes him uncomfortable. Like I'm forcing myself on him. Doesn't he want me to kiss him? Doesn't he want to touch me all the time, like I do? Am I sick for wanting him so badly? This is getting increasingly frustrating and one-sided. I initiate every contact between us. It makes me feel bad. Like I'm crossing boundaries and he's afraid to tell me, no.  
  
I catch his gaze and he looks away quickly again and then gives a long drawn-out sigh. Why is he so skittish? "I forgot my small backpack back home," he says, "There is a book I bought. It's about fishing and the local fauna. Pretty interesting stuff. And my…pill box. There is a headache coming, I can feel it."  
  
"Pill box?" I inquire, "Medicine for headaches? What kind of headaches are these?"  
  
I see a small bead of sweat over his eyebrows. Peeta looks frustrated now, as if I'm not getting the hints he's been throwing at me. At all. He shakes his head and leans back against the tree, exhaling. I'm not a mind reader. If he doesn't talk or answers my questions how can this ever work out?  
  
"Forgive me," he says slowly, "I forget that you weren't in therapy with me. That you have no idea about me and my thoughts. That I never told you and that I can't expect you to understand without me trying to make you understand."  
  
I think we're getting somewhere so I decide to let him talk now, and annoy him with questions later. Bad plan.  
  
He stares into the distance. After a minute I can't bear the silence and try to open up a bit.  
  
"Then make me understand," I urge, "It might be hard, but if you are open with me, we can get through this. I want to understand you better. If you want us to be…something, we have to work on getting to know each other better. I want to know you. Everything about you. Please, please tell me."  
  
Peeta looks at the fish above the coals and then leans back.  
  
The noise of the cicadas is the only noise for a while and then Peeta starts to talk.  
  
"Do you remember the Coopers?" he says and I look up into his eyes. They seem a pale shade of blue in the fading orange of the day. His eyes flit away to the lake once more.  
  
"Yeah," I answer hesitantly. "Who doesn't?"  
  
The Coopers were the biggest family clan in District 12. The grocery belonged to them. The patriarch, Roy Cooper, owned the second biggest house in town, lived next to the Undersees and died when I was small. I still remember the funeral because most merchant kids didn't come to school that day. Nearly all of them were somehow related to the Coopers.  
  
"My father was a Cooper," Peeta whispers into the wind and I stare at him. What?  
  
"I always assumed…," I start.  
  
"That he had been born as baker?" Peeta interrupts, an uneasy laugh leaving him, "No, my mother's maiden name is Mellark. The bakery was her father's bakery."  
  
His voice turns quiet and my ears strain to hear, paying rapt attention, focused on Peeta's every word.  
  
"My father was Roy Cooper's fourth son of seven children altogether."    
  
"Oh," is all I manage, licking my lips. "That sounds complicated?"  
  
"It is," Peeta says. "The Coopers were always... how can I describe it? Potent? There were too many of them. I think some even started to marry their cousins. Honestly, I was never interested in my family's history. My father didn't interact with his parents, after he took over the bakery. It's like he left this part of his life behind, when he started to work as an apprentice for grandfather Mellark, became a surrogate son to him in a way."  
  
"So your mother and your father met at the bakery?"  
  
"Yeah. I think - and this is something I'm not entirely sure of as my parents never talked about personal stuff with us boys - that my grandfather forced my mother to marry my father. Or at least played a big part in it. You see, the Mellarks are the very opposite of the Coopers. The old baker, grandfather Mellark, had trouble getting my grandmother pregnant. They had been an elderly couple when my mother was born and my grandmother died when she was little. The birth had been hard on her and she never got better.  My brother once asked my mother why she had to be so mean, hitting him all the time. She simply said that she had grown up that way, too. That this was normal and he shouldn't be such a sissy. Dr. Aurelius thinks, she simply did to us what was done to her as a child. She didn't know any better, had no loving mother only a strict father who showed his affection by giving a good beating. This was her life. And it wasn't a good one. She had to work in the bakery, starting as a young girl, never being allowed to play outside or have fun in any way. She essentially took the place of my grandmother and tried to survive."  
  
Peeta turns the fish around, frying the other side and places the coal gently around it.  
  
"She was getting older and my grandfather was getting more frail, desperate for someone to take over. I think, she wanted to run it by herself. That had been her dream all along. But he did not allow her to bake, saying a woman's job was to tend to the customers and do the accounting. That she was too weak for this. She was almost thirty when my grandfather and Roy Cooper made a deal. My father loved baking and was happy to get a job in town when he finished school. He and my grandfather hit it off right away. I told you he wanted to marry your mother. My theory is that marrying old spinster Mellark wasn't the dream of a twenty year old guy."  
  
"Old spinster Mellark?" I echo.  
  
"That's what the neighbors called my mother, even after we were born," Peeta says and shakes his head, "Town people can be cruel."  
  
Not only town people, I guess. Peeta's family history is bleak. Once more I can appreciate that I grew up in a loving home with parents who loved us and each other.  
  
"Your mother ran away with a coal miner, Mr. Everdeen," Peeta continues. "My father had lost the girl he had his eyes on, but I'm sure he had not only dreamed about marriage to your mother.  One of his other dreams was to get the bakery, so he got over it pretty quickly. My father told my oldest brother the story of how grandfather Mellark promised him the name and the business - if he married my mother. He had been working there for years, didn't dislike her. She looked okay, and was a good match. Maybe he even felt sorry for her. My mother refused to do it and my grandfather threatened her. If she wouldn't marry my father he would throw her out of the house. So she did. Nine months in and the first male Mellark since decades was born. My grandfather died three months after. And they both were stuck."  
  
"Oh Peeta," I groan. I had no idea about any of this. It makes a lot of  sense that Peeta didn't want to marry me. I had been confused about his reactions. An arranged marriage. That was so rare in District 12. At least I'd never heard about it before.  
  
"I think my father felt guilty all his life, you know. He didn't speak up against her, because he felt he had no right. He always did exactly what she said and agreed with everything. The times they fought…."  
  
Peeta blushes suddenly.  
  
"Yeah?" I urge him on. I admit to being curious about the Mellarks, indeed. My former home had been completely different to Peeta's.  
  
"We thought they fought. My brothers and I. They used to say;  ' _We need to talk, boys. Leave the house, play in the garden.'_ And sometimes, at night, they made these loud noises. Only later, you know…did we realize what they were really up to…."  
  
"Oh," I chuckle. "They had sex." I really don't want to imagine the baker and the witch in the bedroom, but somehow I find this information to be cute. I imagine the three Mellark boys in their beds, wondering if their parents were out killing each other in the bedroom and grin to myself. It is funny, in a way.  
  
He nods. "Do you remember something similar about your parents?"  
  
I shake my head. "Obviously they made love," I say, "but I don't remember it. They must've been good at hiding, or I didn't really care. I was still a little girl, you know."  
  
He laughs, "Yeah, I think my brothers actually found out what they were really doing. I thought it was gross. Back then. Now I don't. I'm glad that they at least had this to tie them together. Remember my mother got pregnant twice after my grandfather died. She could've prevented it and left it at my older brother, never touch my father again. I think they learned to compromise and she actually liked him back. They enjoyed some aspects of their married life and it changed for the better, after she was finally free of my grandfather. It was not love that brought them together, but they worked out - for some reason."  
  
A lot of things about Peeta make more sense to me after this. It's like a bunch of puzzle pieces all fit together.  
  
"There must've been some resentment left," I murmur checking if the fish is ready and Peeta looks at the distant shore.  
  
"There certainly was. My mother believed that her birthright had been stolen from her and she had had no choice in the matter. She couldn't have done it alone, though. She must've known at least this. But she didn't like to see my father trading with you and Gale or do other stuff she had no control over. She didn't like to share things. She was dominant and possessive to the last stone-hard breadcrumb. In her mind she must've been afraid that it would somehow get taken away from her, that she would be left on the street with nothing but her clothes on. Might be that was the reason why she refused to move to the Victor's Village. The bakery was her one true love. She couldn't bear to leave it. She would've stayed no matter what. So it is no wonder it became her grave in the end."  
  
I wonder if Peeta realizes the parallels between his mother and himself. I'm sure he does, he worked it out in therapy. He also must've known that running the bakery by himself was impossible. He became possessive, irrationally jealous of Henry. If I he hadn't tried to reach out, who knows how it would've all ended for Peeta. Coldness seeps into my limbs when I think about the horrors that could've been.  
  
"You probably ask yourself why I told you all of this." His voice makes me turn his attention back to him.  
  
"It is very brave that you did," I respond.  
  
"When I first came back, I told you, you had the right to see the bigger picture, to know the whole story, before you actually get into a relationship with me, didn't I?"  
  
"Yeah," I say, hairs on my neck standing up. Is this it? Is he ready to tell me?  
  
"Do you want children, Katniss?"  
  
Swallowing, I stare at Peeta. The cicadas have stopped, the whole world seems on standstill. Every nerve is on alert. I know, whatever answer I give to this question will determine our fate as a couple. But that is no reason to lie, to tell him what he might want to hear.  
  
"I never wanted children," I whisper evasively. It's the truth. I never saw myself as a mother.  
  
He waits, sensing there is more.  
  
"I can't tell you," I continue, looking at my hands. "I honestly can't. I never wanted them. Never saw myself married or with a child of my own. A lot of these fears go back to the Games and the huge responsibilities one loads on their shoulders if they bring another person into this world. Another person to take care of. To love….I don't know, Peeta. I'm not sure what you want to hear from me, what the correct answer is. All I can tell you is that right now in this moment, I don't know."  
  
I hear a sniffle and look up. A tear is running down his face. Instinctively I reach out but he moves his body away and stays silent while I wait patiently for him to say something in return.  
  
"We…well…not _we_. Rather I will never be able to give you children," he presses out finally, "So even if you want them, it's not going to happen. Not now. Not in five, ten or fifteen years. Never. At least with me as your partner."  
  
"No…," I whimper, tears running down my face. So, it is like we feared. Oh, dear. I don't care much about these unborn, hypothetical children. More for the fact what that means for Peeta's mental health. He obviously hasn't made his peace with this fact.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Peeta," I say, and want nothing more than to wrap my arms around him, but his posture screams _'stay away'_ so I nervously play with the blanket.  
  
"You have to know this," he continues, "I had to tell you. I know I'm risking our future with this confession. I've only been back for a week, so I think it probably wouldn't destroy me…if…I mean, I survived without you for a year. And before that, I also did….it's just…honestly, this should've been the first thing to tell you when I came back. But you…"  
  
He stops, a sob leaving him.  
  
"You were so sweet. That evening with the cinnamon rolls. And the next day, how you supported me with the bakery. It was like a dream come true. I'm so weak, Katniss. Weak when I'm with you. My knees feel weak, my body boneless. Every fibre of my being wants to be with you. I love you. And now..."  
  
"Peeta," I interrupt reaching out, but he slaps my hand away.  
  
"Sorry," he gasps, and in that word lies more than just a simple apology for that gesture.  
  
"Peeta, I don't care," I say, and the next second do I realize that I really don't.  
  
There is only one thing I'm sure I want in this world: Peeta Mellark, my boy with the bread. Only him. The one I've always wanted. Now, I won't have to share him with some kid. Who cares? More for me.  
  
"You say that now," he interjects, "But in ten years you might think that you'd rather have stayed with Gale and that would destroy me. I can't give you children, Katniss! Think about what that means before you dismiss it that easily. I think we should stop for a second and think hard if continuing…this" he gestures between his torso and mine, avoiding my eyes, "Really would be for the best. For both of us."  
  
"Did you or did you not tell me that you love me, just a few moments ago?" I snap at him, suddenly angry.  
  
His red-rimmed eyes find mine and he nods.  
  
"Then there is no problem," I state. "I'm not going to let you leave a second time. I'm not going to be the one who breaks this up, and I won't allow you to. Not now, not in five, ten or fifteen years. I simply want you. Can't you see? You're all I have ever wanted. Always."  
  
It's true. Peeta sniffles and the first twitch of his lips, a sign of an unsure smile can be seen on his red face. Still, I know this will take a lot of convincing. As if reading my thoughts he starts again.  
  
"Please, let us not rush things. I'll give you as much time to think about this as you need."  
  
I shake my head.  
  
"Think about it, and then what? Decide that I don't want you, after all? It's not gonna happen, Peeta. You're stuck with me, if you like it or not."  
  
"You're not taking this as seriously as you should," he howls in frustration. And then as if an idea has hit him in just that moment he looks me straight in the eyes and says something really weird.  
  
"Let's say, you're okay with the no children part. But what if we…." he blushes, "what if I can't satisfy you? Ever thought of that?"  
  
"Satisfy me? What do you mean?" I don't get it. Wait, is he talking about sex?  
  
"Peeta, we haven't even done a thing yet. How would we know?" I gently ask. What happened to his genitals?  
  
"You're not able to…?" I inquire, trying to understand.  
  
His cheeks are flaming red, eyes almost wild. "Well, no…I mean yes, I am able. But hypothetically speaking. What would you do?"  
  
"Doesn't matter," I retort. "These are two different issues entirely. Let's not mix them up, okay?"  
  
He doesn't answer, pushing his hand into his locks, seemingly trying to think of a way to make me cop out. It won't happen though. Another thought comes to me.  
  
"Peeta, what did the Doctors say, exactly? Did…did you rupture your test..testicles?"  
  
By now, I'm the one who's blushing. I'm the one with the experience and I'm blushing like a schoolgirl when I have to say the word. It's embarrassing.  
  
He looks short of crying again, but I know I won't be able to sleep in peace if we don't talk about this right here, right now. It's not pleasant but it just needs to be done.  
  
He is silent again for a long time and then comes a weak and small, "No."  
  
Once more I wait. I cannot pressure him to tell me these things but tell them, he must. For his sanity and mine.  
  
"No, it wasn't like that," he says slowly. "They found out pretty quickly that everything was….okay. That's why I could've left the hospital after three days.  Honestly when I did that to myself I did it unconsciously. I was so angry at you. One moment I'm lost in pleasure, imagining us - doing things - and the next I see you standing there, sneering at me, laughing at me like I'm that pathetic needy dog that follows you around, that little boy who will never get over his crush, who isn't able to move on. All the synapses in my brain went on overdrive and together with the endorphin of the orgasm….I couldn't help it. I felt it coming. I wanted to shock you, hurt you in some way. You didn't leave. And when you came closer the hijacking took over completely. I didn't think of hurting you verbally anymore, no. For the first time since Thirteen I felt threatened by you. Afraid for my life, scared to death. Some part of me was sane enough to realize that I was about to…"  
  
He stops and sighs deeply,  
  
"I was about to kill you, Katniss. I wanted you gone. Destroyed. That small part of me that was still sane knew I had to hurt myself to stop me from attacking you. Well, I had the most sensitive part of myself in my hands. Before I knew what happened I squeezed…"  
  
He shudders, lost in the memory.  
  
"…and it _hurt_. It brought me back, but I won't lie, it hurt so _fucking_ much. I can still feel the pain sometimes, when I have to pee….but, they told me everything was in order. You know, no after effects."  
  
I look at his pained eyes. So this is the truth. This is it, finally out here in the open. He did it unconsciously to stop himself from hurting me. He probably would've done something different to stop himself if he hadn't been in that horrific position, caught masturbating, thinking of us. What a horrible, fucked up situation and I can't even begin to guess how he ever got over it. I remember the crazy look in his eyes that day. I didn't imagine it, it has been the same look he sported in Thirteen. My poor Peeta.  
  
"But, why…do you think…with the children…and.."  
  
I seemed to have lost the ability to form real sentences after this confession.  
  
"They said everything was okay. But I had trouble. Real trouble afterwards. You know…"  
  
He points to his groin, and I hate that he has to tell this stuff to me. That I need to know this, when it embarrasses my love like this.  
  
"To make a long story short, it didn't work like it did before and…I thought it was because of the drugs I had to take for my leg and the surgeries. But even later, with Dr. Aurelius, it didn't seem to..well, work. I couldn't…I mean, I didn't even know if I wanted to but….they have medical Doctors at Mount Nebel and I didn't understand why I couldn't, when they said physically I was fine, you know…and when I got over…some things…." he cringes. I've never seen him that nervous and uncomfortable.  
  
"I'm sorry. I can't tell you absolutely everything, but I'll try to give you the facts you need to know. After some time I managed to….you know. And I had them examine it."  
  
Examine it?  
  
"That's why I told you the story of my parents and the old Mellarks. It has nothing to do with my testicles. It's not poison or hijacking related either. I'm defected. Because of genetics. Because of my family."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Yeah, bummer right?" He laughs, but there is no humor in it.  
  
"But your mother had three children," I whisper.  
  
"Might be the quality of the Cooper sperm," he jokes, but I know that he feels that nothing is funny about it. "My grandfather was the complete opposite."  
  
"So you can't know for sure?"  
  
"I know for sure, Katniss. Don't get your hopes up, it's certain," he says and there is a finality in his tone that I've never heard before. "The quality is bad. It's sad, but that's my reality. I'm like my grandfather."  
  
_'But your grandfather had a child,'_ I want to argue again but stop myself. I guess he had himself tested and this is the truth. There might be a slight possibility of a baby, but it's so small that it's almost zero. He doesn't want to get my hopes up, but mostly I think he doesn't want to get his own hopes up. I have no idea since when he has this information, but it's not something a man like Peeta, who loves children, will get over in a few months. It'll be tough. I understand why he needed some time to tell me this. He couldn't have done it immediately and now that it's out he wants me to take my time and think about this. Process it.  
  
I shake my head, "At least we won't ever need to use condoms, so I guess there is one upside, right?" I try to crack a joke, but his expression goes injured in an instance and I curse myself. I want to use humor to make this easier on us, but it seems Peeta isn't ready for that.  
  
"You don't get it," he says, "Why don't you understand that this goes deeper than that? I had trouble getting hard for months, Katniss. I couldn't maintain my erections and only recently managed to ejaculate again. Let's ignore my fertility for a second here. Please. You must understand that I'm not some kind of stud. I might never be able to satisfy you physically. I'm….I'll never be able to be a good lover, a true man…"  
  
Peeta continues to ramble and I begin to make a plan in my mind. There is a pattern to Peeta's problems and I'll bet my bow and arrows that this is all in his head. I have to talk to Dr. Aurelius. I hate to talk about sex with others, but this problem needs a professional outlook. What makes it worse are these underlying hints of Gale. Gale and my _sexual_ relationship with him. It's so obvious - Peeta becoming a hunter, Peeta saying he'll disappoint me in bed. I think, in his mind he has constructed it as a fact, that I prefer Gale and I'll only make do with him because he is all I have left. He'll never be a _stud_ , so at least I can have a real man out in the woods.  
  
"You're not even listening," he says and gives me a bit of the fish on a stick. I blow it softly and look back into his eyes.  
  
"Oh, I am listening," I say. "I'm hearing every word you say. But please allow me to make my own decisions, and come to my own conclusions. I will do as you told me. I'll take my time and think about it."  
  
He nods.  
  
"But be prepared, Peeta. Be prepared to be stuck with me. With me, Mellark's bakery, a sexless relationship and no children. I'll think about it, but you have to accept that you can't push me or tell me how I should feel. If I say that I don't care, I mean it. I will be honest with you, but…I know this is hard, considering our history. I won't lie to you. I won't pretend I'm okay when I'm really not. You have to trust me and believe that I mean what I say. I couldn't stand it, if you doubt me."  
  
"Easier said than done," he grumbles and I sigh. Of course, it won't be easy. But we must trust each other. I can't have him doubt me for everything. I wonder if Peeta returned too early? It seems like he still is so insecure. I don't know if I expected him to be confident and fully healed, but I don't think so. I'm glad he returned. I'm glad he wants to be with me. But there are so many problems ahead of us, it's going to be a lot of hard work, building up Peeta's confidence. I take another bite of my fish and lean back. It is tough, but I feel happy despite it all. I've been so lonely these last years, these horrible years without him.  
  
I'm just happy to have him back with me.

* * *

  
  
We part ways in the Victor's Village, when he walks to his house. My eyes follow his form as he opens the door. He gives me a forced smile, a small wave and then he closes the door behind him. Today must've been so hard for him. All I want is show him support, cuddle, make him forget. But maybe this is the wrong way to handle the situation. Can I make him forget? I turn to my house, taking out the golden key and open my red letter box. I find a letter from Johanna inside. So she answered. I blush when I open it, if I can count on one of my friends to be blunt it is certainly her.  
  
I'm disappointed when I realize she has only written about two pages. Sure, I didn't expect her to write me a sex-manual, but this seems not enough. Isn't seducing an art? I go to my couch and cuddle myself back into my usual nest. Halfway through the letter I'm feeling worse… I never gave it much thought, but it somehow feels like Johanna was insulted by my request.

 

 

> _Considering your problems with Peeta, I'm afraid I won't be of much help. I'm flattered that you think of me as experienced and confident, but Katniss, did you ever consider that this was a front, a protection? That my real self isn't like this? In the Capitol, weakness meant death. You are a survivor type, you know that._
> 
> _I'm not shy, maybe I'm even a bit of an exhibitionist. Enjoy it, when people admire my naked body. But that doesn't make me an expert on sex or seduction. And, what's more important, Peeta is in love with you. Whatever you do, he'll love it. Don't force yourself to become someone you're not, especially in bed._
> 
> _Don't rush into a kinky relationship. At least, not yet. Not when he is still in such a bad place._
> 
> _Did he tell you that he came to visit me in District 7? If not, don't mention it. He's asked me some similar questions about girls and sex. Both of you, you're actually in the same situation. All I can tell you is to be open with each other. Try to follow his wishes and your instinct. If you're having a dead bedroom situation in ten years, I might be able to help you out with some tips to spice it up._
> 
> _Right now, I'd propose gentle lovemaking is the way to go. Sorry, I can't be more helpful._

  
She continues to write more about District 7 and ends the letter pretty quickly. I feel ashamed. I assumed that Johanna was an expert on sex. But the Capitol killed her family, she wasn't sold like Finnick and I don't know what she has actually done, how far her experiences go. It's doubtful that she is a virgin, but I've never seen her with a boyfriend. How could I be so insensitive? Just assuming that she knows how to handle a complicated issue like this? Peeta didn't tell me about his visit to Johanna. I'm glad that he has her as a friend, that he obviously trusts her enough to confide in her. Some petty part of me is jealous that he opened up to her when he seems to hold back with me. I try to quench this feeling down as fast as possible, as I know I'm being majorly unfair. Still, I can't help to feel that way. It's still early and I decide to try my luck and call Dr. Aurelius before bed.  
  
The line is busy, but when I call after brushing my teeth and cleaning up before bed, he answers after a few rings.  
  
"Katniss," he greets, good-naturedly, "How splendid to hear from you."  
  
I roll my eyes.  
  
"You've just finished talking to Peeta, haven't you?" I ask.  
  
"Correct," he answers, "You had a long talk today, and I think you both are very exhausted."  
  
"Can I ask you a few questions?" I cut to the case.  
  
"Sure," he says, "But don't expect me to answer. Peeta is my patient, and he trusts me. I can try to help you out, ask away."  
  
He doesn't have to tell me this. I know, Dr. Aurelius never revealed much. He didn't interfere with our relationship, not once. Some pain might've been avoided but I'm glad. Peeta trusts him and so do I. I wouldn't like it if he told Peeta about my treatment.  
  
"Might be we need couple counseling," I add and he laughs.  
  
"I think it is a bit too early for that. Build a relationship first. And if you're having problems then call me." This reminds me of Johanna and the dead bedroom situation and I must admit, she is not as bad as she believes in giving advice.  
  
"Peeta told me that he won't be able to father children," I say and hesitate. I don't want to ask if that's the truth, as I believe him. But what did the Doctors actually find out?  
  
"And that's the truth," Dr. Aurelius says, "In his mind. At this moment. I would strongly suggest that you try to come to terms with this and accept it. Thing is, it is not impossible for him, not as bleak as he thinks. But hope is a fickle friend. It's better to believe this and be pleasantly surprised one day, instead of always hoping and be bitterly disappointed."  
  
I nod.  
  
"He doesn't believe me when I say that it doesn't matter to me," I whisper.  
  
"That's his prerogative," the doctor says, "He is very perceptive. Do you really not care? Or do you not care right now? He is afraid you won't feel this way ten years into the relationship. He is in it for the long haul and he hopes you are, too."  
  
"I am," I say, "But honestly, how can I persuade him? Can make him see? I don't know what I'll feel or think in ten years time or what kind of woman I am when I'm in my thirties. I can't look into the future, Dr. Aurelius."  
  
"That's true," he says, "There is no solution. You have the facts and you accept them. You can live with it. That's all Peeta can ask for. This is something he has to come to terms with himself first. He must learn to live with it and he is not quite there yet."  
  
"Oh," I answer, "Why did you let him leave if he isn't quite there yet? I must be honest, Dr. Aurelius. There are certain things that worry me. His leg and that he sold the bakery. His new-found interest in hunting. And…well, he is so hesitant and told me things…" I stop myself, but then reconsider. This is Dr. Aurelius. He knows it all.  
  
"When I try to initiate kissing or touching he flinches away. He told me he isn't some stud, that he will disappoint me in bed. I'm afraid he won't even try. And if he does one day and things don't go the way he wants them to, that he'll have his confirmation."  
  
As soon as I say it I know this is the truth. I can see it all too clearly. Peeta and me in bed together, him being too nervous to get hard and shutting down completely.  
  
"All understandable predictions, Katniss," he says. "But that's all they are. Predictions. You're working yourself into a frenzy and worry about problems that have yet to happen."  
  
He's right, of course. But I can't help but worry anyway.  
  
"As to why we decided to let him leave, I can tell you this. One can only get so far with treatment in an institution. He had to get back, get back to Twelve. He didn't feel ready, but I told him it was time. Time to face you, time to start living again. He disagreed. I didn't quite throw him out, but he had to go."  
  
He pauses. I'm sure there is more to this, but Dr. Aurelius is actually quite open with me so I shut down my curiosity and decide not to pry.  
  
"Peeta felt betrayed. He wanted to stay. If I hadn't urged him he would have stayed and would be here still. After he left he went to visit a few old friends. And new ones he made here, in the Capitol. That trip helped him to finally return. To you."  
  
Yes, Peeta visited Delly and Johanna and maybe others I don't know about. So that's what he did after he left Mount Nebel. Dr. Aurelius doesn't react to my hesitant hints concerning sex. I don't know how to be more blunt about it, so I let it be.  
  
"Thank you for helping us out so much," I say anyway. The poor man must spend half of his time on the phone with us.  
  
"I told you, it's an honor," he says, and his voice is strict. "I want you to get better." We stay silent for a while and I guess he wants to hang up, but then he speaks up again.  
  
"What's happening with the bakery?" he asks.  
  
"We don't know yet," I answer sadly. I can hardly accept that the bakery is not his anymore and this is grating on me.  
  
"What do you want to happen?" he asks, voice gentle this time.  
  
"I…" I gasp and feel wetness in my eyelashes. Why am I crying?  
  
"I want it to be ours," I admit, "Peeta worked hard for so long and it was tough for me, that last year. I don't want to be a full-time baker, but I think I could…we could be happy. Building a life…" Small sobs leave me and I'm surprised at myself. I love the bakery. It's my home. And Peeta. I want it back, I want it all to be ours.  
  
"What do you think Peeta wants?" Dr. Aurelius asks.  
  
"I have no idea," I sniffle, "He is not a bad hunter." What I don't say is that I don't want to spent the rest of our lifes in the woods. I still love to hunt. But I also love to bake. I want both activities to be a part of our life. I don't want the situation to stay the same.  
  
"I won't tell you what to do, as I don't tell Peeta what to do. But I think you should try to get it back, Katniss. I don't know what you're financial situation is like now, but I think it is okay to be selfish and use your fame for this."  
  
"Oh?" I say, surprised. "You think so?"  
  
"It's obvious how much this place means to you. And it means the same to Peeta. Don't let him fool you. I don't have to tell you, you know him better. But he is skilled when it comes to lying. This is a case of lying to protect himself. His heart and his mind are in two different places, torn. He will continue telling you he doesn't care. But he does. Do you understand?"  
  
Dr. Aurelius seldom tells me exactly what to do. I can feel it, this is important. The bakery is important. And Dr. Aurelius just helped me with the situation. He couldn't have been more obvious without outright saying it. Peeta was forced to make a horrible choice. Leg or bakery. Being aware of his mother's situation it might be possible that he forced himself to become a hunter. He didn't want to obsess like she did, didn't want to make the bakery priority and didn't want to admit that he loves this place with all his heart. I nod to myself.  
  
"I know what I have to do," I thank him, "I guess, I'll never stop with the thanks, but thank you for being so honest."  
  
"It's what I'm here for," he answers. "There is no right or wrong. There is no black and white. Life is full of decisions that have no correct answer. It's only possible to move forward, no regrets. What I just told you is what I think you should do. I can give no guarantees."  
  
"I don't need them," I say, confidently, "I've made it this far without a safety net, I'm sure I can handle this."  
  
"That's good," he laughs, "You're strong. Stronger than most. You can do it."  
  
"Thank you," I whisper and we say goodbye.

Feeling better, much better. Does Peeta also feel better after a talk with the Doctor? He has a way of building up my confidence and that's no easy task. When I crawl into bed that night I'm mentally planning on how to proceed concerning the bakery. Dr. Aurelius told me to use my fame. And I will. I'm still the Mockingjay, all of Panem knows my name. I'm not able to leave the District, but I could write to Plutarch. Or to that ominous Bank of Panem. Or to the Doctors who took Peeta's money. Hell, I could give an interview or write a book. There are many ways to get money and the bakery back. And I swear I will find a way.

* * *

  
  
During the next days I'm quite busy with letter writing. It reminds me of the days when I wrote to the government daily, trying to get out of District 12. I'm counting on my old pals, Plutarch or Paylor. I'm sure there is guilty conscience when it comes to the way they acted during the trial. I know a lot about the revolution, they probably wouldn't want the world to know. I could come forward. As Paylor said, Panem is a democracy now. Free speech is possible and boy, when it comes to the injustice of Peeta's situation I don't even have problems with blackmail or putting myself out there.  
  
I also write to Effie, an embarrassing letter in which I ask for some advice about sexuality. I don't believe that Effie is more experienced than Johanna, I don't really think of her as an sexual being at all. But the Capitol has always been so advanced. They have the greatest books about all sorts of topics, not only baking. I loved every book that Effie sent so far. In a place like the Capitol, people weren't only stupid and brainless lovers of morbid entertainment. Scientific research happened there, the Capitol was home to Panem's biggest university. I'm sure there are books that can help me with matters of the human body.  
  
Honestly, I need all the help I can get. In the following weeks me and Peeta spend a huge amount of time together. We work in the bakery, we go hunting, we play board games in my house. While he seems to relax more and more around me during these weeks, he gets stiff as a board whenever I try to hug him or lean in for a kiss. He doesn't flinch away or tell me to stop, but he's not enjoying himself. We're taking baby steps and I try to be patient. When I ask him about it, he only says he is sorry and that he doesn't know why he is like this. When I hesitantly ask if he wants to sleep in my bed again, one evening, after a long game of chess, his ears turn red and he shakes his head. I don't dare to mention sex, afraid that he starts running as soon as I say the word. While he was relatively open with me during the first week he returned, I'm actually feeling like we're going backwards now.  
  
I'm at my wit's end when I walk back from choir practice one evening in early fall. I don't understand why Peeta doesn't crave intimacy. I'm constantly horny, but I can live without sex, that's not the problem. But I want to snuggle up, nuzzle his hair, touch him, kiss him, feel close.  I'm so afraid of scaring him that my feeble attempts get less and less in frequency. And then he starts to get this look in his eyes, when I _don't_ touch him. Disappointment. Anxiousness. No matter what I do, it seems to be the wrong thing. It's driving me crazy.  
  
When I turn the corner I almost run into Dr. Leger on the street corner on the road to the bakery.  
  
We laugh awkwardly and then proceed to go our own way when I suddenly realize that _she_ is the person I need.  
  
She's female, she's a doctor, she knows all about our situation. I fly back around.  
  
"Dr. Leger," I yell, and then curse myself. We're at first name basis since a few weeks ago, when we had dinner and too much wine after Haymitch left for bed. "Ermengarde?"  
  
"Yes?" She smiles at me, her green eyes twinkling.  
  
"Is Haymitch home?" Home being her house in town, the house where her practice is.  
  
She shakes her head, "No, he is working. I don't know if he's coming back tonight."  
  
"Do you have some time? I need…I need to talk to someone."  
  
She nods, "Sure. Let's go." We go back to her house which is located next to the square, a short walk away. She rushes me in and begins to boil water for peppermint tea, while I sit down at her beautiful kitchen table watching her work. Her home is cozy, and despite it also being a doctor's practice I feel relatively at ease.  
  
"So," she says gently, sitting on the other side of the table, pushing a red lock behind her ear and looking at me curiously, "What is it that you want to talk about?"  
  
Nervously I sip at my tea, looking into the dark liquid, which mirrors my pink cheeks. _'Get over it, Everdeen'_ , I think and cough. I look up at her and press it out quickly, since I might lose my courage otherwise.  
  
"Sex," I say, "I want to talk about sex."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did we really arrive at Chapter 10 already? Chapter 10? Really? Thanks for your lovely support on this story. I know I put you Everlark fans through the wringer with this. Don't be mad. ;)


	11. Sender: Hazelle Hawthorne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my dear readers. It's been awhile since I updated my fanfic The Red Letter Box. For all of you who have been waiting for an update, I apologize. I'm sure you'll forgive and forget my laziness, when you read this eleventh Chapter of TRLB, which is called Sender: Hazelle Hawthorne. Have fun!

The storage room is full. Every nook, every cupboard, each small corner is filled with goods. New Years is approaching and the bakery is as busy as ever. I step on the small ladder, to reach the highest cupboard. Breathing in deeply, a warm feeling settles in my stomach.  
  
Vanilla. I must've put the vanilla box somewhere around here.  
  
Eric and I decided to add another product to our repertoire, something famous from his district, similar to a donut, filled with juicy apple pieces and rolled in vanilla sugar. I can't seem to find the little box with the vanilla, I knew I put up here. I try to climb another step up, when I take a misstep into the air, fall backwards down the ladder.  
  
"Easy," Peeta mumbles as I hit his chest with a hard bump, "I got you."  
  
Of course. He is here. Steady, like always. Keeping me away from harm. Sensing that he wants to move away, I'm not having it this time. There are snowflakes in his eyelashes, and his cheeks and nose are red. Wrapping my arms around him, I nestle my head under his chin.  
  
"Love," I whisper, "I've missed you."  
  
He is shaking slightly, but also wraps his arms around me, hesitantly.  
  
"You've only seen me this morning," he says slowly, and I feel his body getting slightly rigid.  
  
Damn. Why can't he relax? What am I doing wrong?  
  
I press myself deeper into the embrace.  
  
"Peeta," I half-moan, stroking his back, "It's too cold to go hunting. We don't need it. I wish you would stay here, with me."  
  
He doesn't answer and I sigh. He is still not convinced that we should focus on the bakery.  
  
"For what?" he told me a few weeks ago, when we were having another argument about it. "Do you really want to work for the United Bank of Panem? There is not much difference between working for them and the Capitol. My family had to make ends' meet every month. You won't believe me, when I tell you how much we had to pay for taxes. We were always fighting to stay afloat. Without my mother's skills in accounting, and some tough decision making on her part, we would've lost the bakery to the Capitol before my father turned thirty."  
  
I have a hard time refuting this argument. Trying to make Peeta fight for the bakery seems like an impossible task. Dr. Aurelius thinks Peeta is lying to himself, but some days it really doesn't seem that way. He seems to have given up. Another day I confronted him about it and that ended with our first real fight since he came back.  
  
"Can't you see I've finally made my peace with the fact that I no longer own the place?" he shouted at me, looking half-crazy, "It was so fucking hard, and now I have to be reminded all the time. I don't want to be at that place all day long." His eyes were blood-shot and I apologised. He accepted the apology and went to his own house, refusing to come to the bakery the next day.  
  
Sometimes he comes and helps me with recipes and baking. When he is here everything seems easier. He works efficiently, knows instinctively what to do and Eric, Peatrice and me watch in awe as he does what he really does best. And Peeta loves it. He is whistling before long, until he suddenly freezes and I know what he's thinking about. This is not his place anymore and it drains all the energy, all the power out of his bones. As soon as he remembers he usually withdraws. Helps us, but the spark is gone.  
  
"Katniss?" Peatrice comes around the corner to the storage room, turns beet red and around again immediately when she sees Peeta and me embracing, disappears with a mumbled, "Sorry."  
  
Peeta pushes me away, as if some animal has bitten him, looking uncomfortable.  
  
"Will you come to dinner later?" he asks, pretending to be unaffected by Peatrice sudden intrusion. "I invited Haymitch and Ermengarde, too."  
  
"Yeah, sure," I answer, biting my lip. A little cloud of sadness appears in his eyes.  
  
"I'm sorry," he says, looks down on the floor. "I'm so sorry."  
  
I feel tears prickling at the edge of my eyes and shake my head. "It's okay."  
  
"No, I'm a lousy excuse for a boyfriend. I know." He looks up to me and I have a hard time not starting to sob.  
  
"Bullshit," I say, but I know my refusal to accept that he puts himself down is getting weaker. It's starting to hurt me, every time he tells me he's not good enough. "It's okay that you're uncomfortable with embracing in public. I totally get that. I feel the same."  
  
He shakes his head. "You know as well as I do, it's not that."  
  
Turning around I step up the ladder again, continuing my quest for the vanilla.  
  
"See you at dinner," I say to the wall, trying to hide how much all of this hurts me, but probably failing as my voice cracks. When I listen to his steps fading away, a lone tear finds its way out of my eyes.  
  
If I had believed that my life would become easy and fun as soon as Peeta returned, I would have been in for an unfortunate surprise. He is back with me, and while the painful loneliness is gone, another multitude of unpleasant emotions have taken that place. Rebuilding the confidence of a man who had his brain turned inside out, who hated me for so long, who had so many conflicted emotions for me through these last years, has become my task. I thought that intimacy and sex were our most pressing problems, but in the end those are just symptoms of greater issues. Peeta is deeply confused, mentally and physically hurt.  
  
He's not blaming me for what happened. He is blaming himself. His confidence I was once so attracted to is at a low point. He is trying, he really is, but he can't get out of his skin, out of this circle he is caught in. It's not really him being depressed. He does laugh, make me laugh and we have wonderful long conversations, play games or just enjoy each other's presence without saying a word. But once he gets into one of his moods, it is hard to coax him out of it. A lot of it is connected to the bakery, his identity as Peeta Mellark, baker. It's all he saw himself as and now that is gone - an identity crisis takes place. An issue of self-image. And unfortunately I can't help him with this. It took me a while and long talks with Dr. Aurelius to understand that I'm not the solution to Peeta's every problem. That I will never be able to slay all his demons and protect him from himself. That no matter how much one wants to help another, the biggest issue are in your own head. After I thought about this for a while, I accepted it. It's similar to my own state of mind years ago. I had to drag myself out of that deep hole and no one but me could have done it.

All I can do is be here for him and help him by showing him how much I love him and how much he means to me. Even if he rejects me, I try hard not taking it too personally. Sometimes it works, and sometimes I fail and start crying. Dr. Aurelius said it's okay, that even if I cry that doesn't mean everything is doomed for us. I should accept these feelings and not hide them from Peeta either. That is advice I'm not too sure about. Is it really a good idea to let him see how much his rejection affects me? Having to trust Dr. Aurelius on this is hard, especially when progress is something I hardly see. Peeta's been back for four months, and things haven't gotten that much easier since his confession at the lake.  
  
Haymitch and Ermengarde are our biggest supporters these days. Ermengarde helps me with the physical, gave me a book with instructions about techniques for relaxing the body. There are some very interesting exercises for muscle relaxing, or even clearing the mind. Meditation it is called, we sometimes try these exercises at home. While I feel more relaxed Peeta is not getting that much out of it, but still calls Dr. Aurelius every day and makes sure to continue his treatment, with the occasional visit to Ermengarde. Haymitch spends a lot of time with Peeta, too. He is as desperate to make amends with him as I am. I'm not sure if Peeta opens up with Haymitch, but they seem to get closer and I'm glad for them. In the end it is all thanks to Ermengarde, Haymitch tells us one evening, saying goodbye to us after dinner.  
  
"I'd never thought that this was in the cards for me. Thought someone like me 'd never deserve this. I'm not a good person, really not," he shook his head at us and no matter how much we tried to convince him otherwise, he wouldn't have it. This rare showing of emotions from Haymitch made me realise that Peeta and Haymitch, even though they are years and years apart, have similar thought patterns when it comes what they think they deserve. I want to scream at them, at both of them, of course you do, you deserve all the happiness in this world, you deserve love and a family and a home, but I also know they can never see it like this, because we, as former Victors, will always live the survivor's guilt and the nagging feeling that happiness is not for us and only for the good people in this world.  
  
Peatrice will close the bakery tonight, so I leave a bit earlier to go into town to post some letters. There is a little shop now, near the station where I post my letters. Meredith is managing the little shop on his own, and when I slip into the warm room, he smiles at me.  
  
"Ah, my favourite customer," he chuckles and I smile back shyly. Even though my social skills have improved a lot, I'm baffled about the kindness of these people. Still see myself as a Seam girl that has no place around town. After all I've been through, Peeta's mother's words seem to have stuck. She is dead, dead and buried. I'll never have the chance to convince her, to show her what I have become. That I took over the bakery, made it work, became skilled in this and that her son and me will protect this place for the rest of time. I wonder, if I could've had a real relationship with her, if she would've been able to change. Thanks to Peeta, I understand her better than before. Before the games, I was very self-centred, or at least my universe consisted of only Prim and me. Even my mother's emotion I couldn't grasp, and I never thought about other people's hardships much. Part of growing up after the rebellion, I began to understand that other people live their own life, have their own fears and insecurities and even if they don't seem to be of much importance to me, they are to these people.  
  
"Any news about the colours?" I ask. As New Years is approaching I decided to give my loved ones some presents. Help Peeta to stop focusing on the bakery or hunting. He acts as if these are the only two options, spending his time. He is a painter, but he doesn't paint much anymore, even when Haymitch built him the most beautiful easel. Hoping that a new colour palette from the Capitol will get him motivated, I ordered them a few weeks ago. There must've been something wrong though, because even after getting the receipt the package seems lost somewhere.  
  
"Oh, yes," Meredith exclaims. "There was a package for you, I've already delivered them."  
  
"What?" I ask, a little irritated. Peeta is not supposed to see them before New Years, and he has a key to my red letter box, leaving my mail on my kitchen table if he is home before me. Meredith knew I was waiting for the package and that it was supposed to be a surprise.  
  
"No worries, Miss Everdeen," he grins, "Mr. Abernathy got a few packages for his shop so I left the package at his house."  
  
"Oh, that's good then," I say relieved, watching curiously as he searches for something in the back.  
  
"You didn't come for nothing, though," he says, coming back with a big brown envelope, "Here. This came with the train just an hour ago. Would've been delivered tomorrow."  
  
"Thank you," I say, feeling satisfied when I check the sender. It's Hazelle's. She finally sent me all the documents I need to start my invasion against the United Bank of Panem. Actually she has become my greatest support during this. It's hard to get things done, when I'm unable to go the Capitol in person, and the Bank seems keen on ignoring me. In my desperation I told all of my friends what happened with Peeta and his leg, and that they took the bakery from us. Hazelle has a job in administration and was willing to help me out, with the paper work.

First I'll try to reason with the bank. If that's not working, I'll go to the press. I really don't care either way. Even if Plutarch has to pay the Bank out of his own pocket, I'll get the bakery back, one way or another.  
  
Whistling a tune, I finally feel like things are moving forward. I say goodbye to Meredith, already excited about whatever Peeta will have cooked. He's wonderful in the kitchen and I adore his food. And maybe this evening he'll stay with me, if I ask nicely. Even if it's only sleeping, and holding each other, it is important that we do this. We have to get comfortable with each other again, used to the other's body, before anything can happen. And it still seems a long way to go.

* * *

  
  
Choir practice ran unusually late tonight. I had planned to go to Ermengarde's for a cup of peppermint tea, and a little lesson about the male mindset, when it comes to certain things, but the District Square is dark and silent and I don't want to disturb in the middle of night.  The street lamps are out, it must be after midnight.  
  
"Should I accompany you home?" Eric asks, when we leave the town hall. He looks exhausted. We've been up all day, working to get things done for the New Year festivities, so I shake my head.  
  
"I'm an adult," I say and grin at him, "Look the moon is reflecting against the snow. I'll find my way." He nods and waves goodbye and I make my way home. He really grew into the role of my protector in a way. It's cute, but I don't need it. If there is one thing Katniss Everdeen can do, it's looking after herself.  
  
As I walk back to the Victor's Village my thoughts drift to a conversation I had with Ermengarde, a conversation I had originally wanted to continue tonight. She told me that I should try to make Peeta relaxed around me. And that on the road to intimacy we should try to get used to each other's bodies. I'd been confused about what that meant, so she told me she thinks it would be good if Peeta and I get used to each other naked. Just being naked together, without anything sexual happening. I'm not against the idea, but in practice I'm not sure if it'll work. First of all it is winter and I can think of nothing more unappealing than running through my house naked. I'm constantly freezing anyway, so I would probably snuggle into a blanket as soon as I can. We could light a fire, but even that wouldn't keep us warm. If Peeta doesn't want any contact between our naked skin, there is nothing I can do.  
  
Also, I have no idea on how to bring it up. I can't very well say, "Hey, love. Let's ditch the clothes. Don't worry, it's not about sex, but about getting comfortable." It's doubtful that Peeta will see it that way. If, against all odds, he agrees, we have another problem. I will get wet, no matter what. My folds slickened, as soon as Ermengarde suggested it. When I imagine us bared, exposed to each other, my whole body begins to flush, my thighs quiver. Only at the thought. So, I'm not sure I can make this exercise about relaxing, when all I want to do is touch Peeta, and in turn have him touch me. I'm afraid. Afraid that he'll get erect. Afraid that he won't. I'm not even sure anymore, what I'm most afraid of. Well, I won't get my answers tonight, Ermengarde's house was pitch dark when I passed it.  
  
My eyes are on my red letter box as I walk down the road in the Village, when I see a shadow moving behind Peeta's window at the corner of my eye. Is he still awake? I don't want to assume anything. Swore to myself that day, that I'll never again invade Peeta's privacy and go into his house uninvited. I turn around towards my own door, when I hear the sound of the door being opened on the other side.  
  
"Katniss?" Peeta says, voice urgent, "Can you come here?"  
  
Well, that is new. He never waits for me after choir practice or when I go visit Ermengarde, prefers to sleep in his house.  
  
Nodding, I walk over to him. My face breaks into a smile. Peeta looks so handsome. Even wearing comfortable sweat pants, and a simple black shirt, I can't help but notice how cute he is. I get on my tiptoes to give him a kiss in greeting when he grabs my wrist and pulls me into the house, kicking the door closed with his leg.  
  
"Peeta?" I ask, surprised. He half drags me to the sitting room, but changes his mind as soon as we enter. We haven't been in here together since the incident, and Peeta seems to realise this.  
  
"Not here," he mumbles to himself. I'm still too shocked by his behaviour to do anything but stare at him out of wide eyes. His hand is sweaty and he has a tight hold on my wrist. Dragging me to the kitchen, he let's go only to grab my shoulders. His eyes are red, but the pupils seem normal.  
  
"Katniss," he mumbles, then clears his throat, "You're late."  
  
"Yeah, choir practice took longer than I thought it would, you know with the New Year's festivities coming up....everything all right?"  
  
He stares at me, and for some reason this gives me the shivers. He seems a million miles away, but in fact it's been the closest we have been in weeks. He's invading my personal space, looming over me. Swallowing, he pushes me against the counter. What is this?  
  
"What?"  
  
And he's kissing me. His tongue, slithers between my lips which I gladly open up for him.

 _'This is it'_ , I think, happily. Peeta is kissing me. He initiated. It's not some innocent kiss, it's full of passion, tongue and fluids. Moaning I feel my nipples hardening. Yes. This is the intensity I've been waiting for, the passion I knew that was there, hidden somewhere between all the hurt and pain.  
  
A helpless little whimper leaves me when he presses his leg between my thighs and proceeds to slowly lift it up. I'm basically riding on his leg, with no escape. Feeling cornered, a surge of hotness weaves through my body. He is so possessive. Opening up my scarf he pulls it away and I help him getting me out of the green wool coat I've been wearing. His lips never leave mine during the whole endeavour and I buck against his strong thigh. This is heaven.  
  
He stops kissing me, eyes meeting mine and I can't read his expression.

What brought this on, what is he thinking?  
  
"You're mine," he hisses, making a small tremor run through me, "My girl."  
  
Suddenly his strong hands are on my breasts. I didn't see this coming, and there is the barrier of my bra and sweater between us. Peeta's cheeks are dark, a dark shade of red.  
  
He squeezes and it hurts.  
  
It's not gentle and loving, it's painful - the way he flexes his fingers, grabs onto me. His fingers pinch my nipple in a way that is so not Peeta. Whatever I thought I would feel when Peeta first puts his hands on me in a sexual way, it certainly wasn't pain.  
  
I'm still aroused, but finally notice that Peeta is not himself. It's not an episode exactly. If I hadn't been so caught up in my own desire I should have blocked his advances from the start. I know, he is not healthy and not at peace at all. This is the opposite of taking it slow.  
  
He seems to come to the same conclusion at the same time. I avert my eyes, looking at his beautiful hands and at the tight grip he has own my aching breasts. It hurts, but what hurts more is the fact that Peeta withdraws his hands, his leg and takes a step back, making me sink down on his kitchen floor.  
  
Lifting my head I see the horror settling in, in his eyes. Even though I haven't said a word, Peeta knows he's hurt me. The horror turns into anguish, and I see the first sign of tears at the corner of his eye.  
  
Quick. I have to think fast. I can't have this incident throw us back. Not after so much time, I have to be smart about this. Instinct tells me it is crucial how I handle this. Steeling my mind, I stand up. His hand moves in front of his mouth, as if he's short of vomiting.  
  
"Yes," I confirm, making sure my voice is strong and clear, "I'm your girl. Always."  
  
"Katniss," he whimpers, "I'm sorry."  
  
Slowly I walk over to the kitchen table and proceed to sit down.  
  
"You don't deserve this," he continues, "No, you don't."  
  
My stare is hard and cold. I don't want to listen to this nonsense again, gotta quench this train of thought as soon as I can. "Well, we had this discussion before. You don't get to decide what I deserve and what I don't deserve. Sit down."  
  
Peeta slumps down on another chair, as far away from me as possible.  
  
"So, what is it Peeta? Do you want to play the rough way? Because all you had to do was ask, you know that. I would have found a way to please you. But you surely realise that this has to be talked about in advance? No one likes to be surprised when it comes to this."  
  
"You..you...what?" Peeta blushes, and I smirk. I knew, making a big deal out of his actions would make him go back into his shell. And I can't have that.  
  
"You like to manhandle me, ravish me? I'm up for it, if you want that. All I want is some warning, so I know what's coming."  
  
"No, no, Katniss," he groans, "That's not...that's not what I want. Not what I meant."  
  
He points to his groin and repeats, "No." A quick look down at his pants tell me all I need to know. This wasn't doing anything for him. It didn't turn him on in the slightest. Might even be that this was the reason he squeezed my breasts like this. He would have been more considerate, if this had been sexual for him. No, there is another reason.  
  
"What brought this on, Peeta?" I ask gently. He dislikes touch for weeks and suddenly this.  
  
"I thought...I mean, I know you want this," he answers, still looking a bit ruffled, "Well, I tried to...even when I knew it wasn't working. Don't want you to think that I gave up on us. I want to be close to you."  
  
"So, in short, you're forcing yourself to do things to me that you don't want to do? Because I want them?"  
  
He shrugs.  
  
"How do you think that makes me feel? If you don't like it, it has no meaning, Peeta. And this doesn't only mean sex. We talked about taking this slow, sleeping in each other's arms, getting used to each other's bodies. Even...maybe, getting naked together, getting used to being naked together, no strings attached. If you don't want that, I can't force you. Please. Look at me."  
  
He does.  
  
"We can't pressure ourselves like this. When it happens it happens. The natural way. If it doesn't happen, well, it won't kill us. We can be close without all this, don't you agree?"  
  
He stays silent. Thinking. What is he thinking?  
  
"Peeta?" I question again. "Please talk to me."  
  
"I can't," he says. "Because it would hurt you. If you knew what I was really thinking... You can't force me to say it."  
  
"You refuse to be honest with me? How can this ever work?" A pleading edge has found its way into my questions. When did he become so damn guarded? Our roles have been totally reversed. He was always open, had a way with words and was determined to tell me how he felt. Then I hesitate. No, that's not true. Peeta wasn't always like this. He told me he liked me since we were five. And only spoke up after he knew he was going to die. Maybe I misinterpreted Peeta's inner mindset. Maybe he is a person that broods over problems, and tries to figure them out on his own, without help. And maybe, he has always been that way. Erected a front, a happy face, that he shows the world, but is honestly struggling behind that smile.  
  
"Maybe it won't," he whispers and all I want to do right now is give him a slap. Or scream.  
  
"Okay, you don't want to talk to me. I get that. But talk to Dr. Aurelius. Or Haymitch. Or even Ermengarde. Anyone. Please."  
  
"I'm already doing that," he says evasively. It's obviously not enough, I think. A small groan leaves me, I can't help it. Peeta gnaws on his lips and averts his gaze. Damn.  
  
"You must be tired," he states after awhile, "Let me get your scarf."  
  
And now he's throwing me out? I want to protest at this treatment, at the unfairness of it all, but I also know that I won't get Peeta to talk if he doesn't want to. If he wants me to leave, I will.  
  
Getting up I take my coat from the floor when he wraps the scarf around me. He steps closer and gently bumps his forehead against mine.  
  
"Don't hate me," he says so quietly that I almost don't catch it. Rubbing my nose against his, I whisper back "Never."

* * *

  
  
It's freezing when I enter my kitchen the next morning, around 5 to have a quick hot cup of tea to warm me up, before I go to work. That's odd. I haven't been in here yesterday, went up straight away, after coming from Peeta's. To my shock I see that the window is open. Shuddering I close it quickly, wondering why I didn't notice before, when my eyes fall on the kitchen table.  
  
Yesterday's mail lies there, several envelopes. Peeta looks after my house when I'm at work. He is quite domestic, so he cleans up and keeps everything in order. He obviously put the mail on the table, and then opened the window and forgot. Forgot...when I step closer and see the handwriting on the topmost letter, I know why he forgot. And I know why he acted like he did, last night.  
  
It's a letter from Gale.  
  
Peeta saw it, must've taken it out of the letter box. Strangely, I'm almost relieved, since now I know.  The reason, why he can't talk to me, tell me what he really thinks about. I hate that he didn't tell me what brought it on, but now at least I can see why. And honestly, a conversation about Gale is long overdue. At least from my side. Peeta keeps telling me that he has no problems with Gale. That I can talk about him, that he isn't taboo. Fact is that I don't bring him up often, because there is not much to say. We rekindled a vague friendship, write to each other occasionally, but that's it. Only recently we started to communicate more often, because of the bakery. Gale has connections in the Capitol I can only dream about. He was very interested in helping me out, and I guess that's what his letter is about. He knows about me and Peeta. We talked on the phone after Peeta returned to Twelve, and he just sighed as if he'd known this would have happened anyway. He didn't tell me directly, but I kind of get the idea that he isn't all alone in District 2 either. That I'm not even remotely curious about his new relationship is probably the most obvious sign that I don't have any romantic feelings left for Gale. I wish him all the best and hope he will find happiness. And that's all there is to it.  
  
Of course, Peeta won't see it that way. That is, if he even listens to me. I want to clear the air, and this is a conversation we should be having. I'm not sure how much information Peeta needs. How much is healthy? Ermengarde and Dr. Aurelius told me to only disclose information I'm comfortable with. That Peeta has no right to know what happened between me and Gale intimately, in detail. On the other hand, if I don't tell him, his imagination is prone to run wild. It was already obvious yesterday night, him squeezing me like that, calling me _'his girl'_. He probably has the wrong idea about Gale and me. Gale wasn't possessive in bed and that's not what I want from a partner anyway. But Peeta doesn't know that. He doesn't know until I tell him clearly without any pretence, without any questions left unanswered. It seems another long talk is in order, one I've been dreading since he told me that he learned how to hunt and I had asked myself why. It's hard to imagine that we'll ever get rid of the ghost of Gale's presence entirely. I felt guilty for our relationship for a long time. It is something I cannot change. My only hope is that Peeta will be able to let it go.  
  
If not, well, I don't want to think about that.

* * *

  
  
Taking my time, I'm all too aware that I'm avoiding the issue again, when Peeta arrives for lunch in the bakery, showing me an unsure smile. He brought some winter stars, a flower native to our district, for the shop window and I thank him, remind him of dinner tonight. I don't suggest that we need to talk. It's obvious that he is confused about yesterday. Not sure if he should bring it up, or if he feels guilty, or if he should apologise more. So, I act like it didn't happen and he seems okay. When I come back to my house at early afternoon, Peeta is already there, marinating elk steak, and peeling potatoes.  
  
"Hey," I greet him and give him a kiss on his cheek.  
  
"Hey," he says and turns back to the working plate, continues to peel. I press another kiss on the back of his neck, nuzzling him with my nose and Peeta giggles.  
  
"You're cold," he moans.  
  
"It's freezing outside, what can I say?"  
  
"Mmh," he mumbles.  
  
"Speaking of cold. You left the kitchen window open, yesterday."  
  
"What?," he exclaims, and I can hear the shock in his voice, "Must've forgotten..." Maybe he's been close to an episode, to have left that quick, without returning to close it.  
  
Undressing the outer layers I walk back to the hall and put my coat and scarf in the wardrobe.  
  
When I come back, Peeta is finished with his preparation and is looking around one of my bins, the one for paper, the one where I put in the old newspaper, and mail I don't want to keep.  
  
"Looking for something?" I ask, and he startles.  
  
"Eh...yeah, I thought we could light a fire, don't you think? Keeping it cozy, while we wait. You keep your paper somewhere here, right?"  
  
"Yeah," I answer innocently. Did he really think I would throw Gale's letter in the trash? "Come on then, there should be some paper in the basket next to the fireplace."  
  
Nodding he follows me into the sitting room, where I kneel down to quickly light a fire. Watching how the first spark slowly catches and turns into flame.  
  
Peeta sinks down on the sitting room sofa and leans back.  
  
"It's weird," he says, "The woods in winter, I mean. I've never actually experienced snow and ice like this. When I started to go into the woods at Mount Nebel, it was spring. It's certainly easier during the warmer months. Can't even imagine how you and Ga...how you survived."  
  
"Winter was the hardest time, that's true," I answer, "Especially when I had no idea what I was doing. The good thing about winter is that searching for tracks is one thing that's not that hard, in freshly fallen snow."  
  
He nods, snuggling into the blanket. "Never knew how good I had it. We barely left the warm bakery in winter. It was always cozy, the scent of bread in the air and..."  
  
He stops.  
  
"You can have that, you know. You don't need to be in the woods. You can be with me. In the bakery."  
  
"Katniss," he interrupts quickly.  
  
"Yeah, I know," I say, "You don't want that. So let's talk about the real reasons today."  
  
"The real reasons," he repeats, "What do you mean? You know that the bakery is not mine anymore. Frankly, I don't see why you still act like it is."  
  
I ignore this.  
  
"What's so great about hunting?" I ask after a pause, "Is it really that much fun for you? You don't seem to enjoy it as much as you claim. Actually, you spend more time doing chores around the house than hunting these days."  
  
"That's not true," he says indigantly.  
  
"But it is. Today was my turn to cook dinner. Then I come back from work and you are almost finished with it."  
  
"Excuse me, for wanting to help you," he growls and I wonder if I go about this the wrong way. Arguing about hunting, about the bakery, is something we do all the time, so it doesn't exactly help me if he's in bad mood.  
  
"Sorry," I mumble, cursing my unfortunate way of handling the situation. It's still hard to talk for me, without saying hurtful things. I thought I could steer Peeta to the topic I want to talk about, so I wouldn't have to be the one to bring it up, however this is a wish held in vain. I have no choice, I'll have to be blunt.  
  
"Did you talk to Dr. Aurelius?"  
  
He shakes his head, "When should I have done that? He's not on call twenty-four hours for me, you know. He's running a hospital."  
  
At least he acknowledges that yesterday is something he has to talk about. With Dr. Aurelius.  
  
"Okay," I say standing up, walking to the sofa and sit next to him. "Then why don't _we_ talk about it."  
  
He gnaws on his lip. "Talk about what?"  
  
Now I roll my eyes. "You got home yesterday and got my mail, go into my house and open the windows to let in some fresh air. You put my mail on the table and see that there is a letter from Gale. Something about this obviously disturbed you, makes you leave my house, without closing the window. You're not that careless, Peeta. Not in winter. Then I come home very late at night, seeing you have waited for me and then...well, you know. All I want to know is what exactly happened yesterday night. And why."  
  
Peeta says nothing. His posture is different than before, when he snuggled into the blanket. He is stiff, stiff as a board.  
  
"Did you have an episode?" I ask. If he doesn't talk, maybe questions are the key.  
  
"No," he says quickly. "I felt one coming. It's been a long time. Sometimes, after a particularly hard session in therapy, I got them. But since my return here there was nothing. No triggers. Maybe...maybe because I've been avoiding them."  
  
"You can control it," I state, "But you were close?"  
  
"Mmh," he answers, "That wasn't my best day, yesterday. My mind is still not what it was before. Probably will never be what it was before. Still, this is not an excuse. My emotions exist, outside of the hijacking."  
  
He straightens up, and then breathes out. "Fine. I'm going to tell you. It's plain and simple, really."  
  
Before he can say anything I say the name, "Gale."  
  
His pained eyes fall on me. "Gale," he confirms, "Gale and my feelings about him. About you and him. It's a weird mixture of jealousy and envy and it has been in my life from the day I first saw you with him. I thought you were related, at first. Talked myself into believing that this was the reason you seemed so close. That there was nothing there. That I was irrational."  
  
"And then I told you we're not. Related," I remember the day in the Capitol, after he helped me with Lavinia, the avox girl by pretending she looked like Delly. I also remember that Peeta had believed that Gale was my boyfriend.  
  
"He's writing, right? Do you call each other often?"  
  
That's quite the time jump, but I can see he's been burning to ask these questions.  
  
"I've talked to him twice, after we've broken up. The letter you found in the mail was the third letter he wrote to me. I can show you all of them and you can read them, if you'd like."  
  
He turns red, "No, no. That's not...I mean, I don't want that. That would be rude."  
  
"It's okay, if it helps you," I shrug, and then I take his hands in mine, to reassure, to caress. "I gave you the key to my letter box. I gave you the key, because I trust you and love you. You can read every letter that comes, no matter who it is from. It's okay."  
  
He shakes his head furiously, "I would never. That's not okay. I mean, who would do that? It's not my place. They are your letters. For your eyes only. The senders would not agree. You shouldn't let me read them, it's not right."  
  
Smiling I start to play with his fingers. Peeta is kind and has a strong sense for justice. I know he would never read my letters.  
  
"What do you want to know?" I ask gently, "I'll tell you everything. I won't have any secrets."  
  
Peeta averts his gaze to the cracking fire in the fireplace.  
  
"It might hurt you." My voice gets almost silent, and he laughs, and it's not a happy laugh.  
  
"It most certainly will," he agrees. He seems to ponder my offer and then says slowly, "When did you...did you realise that you were in love with him?"  
  
It's my turn to flush now. Embarrassed I let go of his hand. "I was never in love with Gale."  
  
His blue eyes meet mine, "What?" There is confusion in his eyes, a look I don't understand.  
  
"You were together, Katniss. For over a year. And you say you didn't love him?"  
  
"I love him. I still do. But not in a romantic way, not like I love you. He's important to me, a part of my live. I was never in love with him, though."  
  
Peeta looks like he doesn't believe a word I say, "If you say so."  
  
"When Gale came to visit me, you had been ignoring me for two years, Peeta. You acted like I had the plague, like I disgusted you. I was at my lowest point. The loneliness was getting to me, I was depressed, very hurt and then...he came and offered to be with me," my voice breaks, "I was alone, so alone. To tell you the truth, yes, I was happy that he was still interested. My self-esteem was almost gone, I began to despise myself - and he made me feel alive again. I thought, I had lost you forever. If you'd have given me any sign of wanting to reconcile...but you didn't. Only after, only after he came back. And then..."  
  
_'It was already too late'_ , I think, but don't say it. Peeta though, catches on.  
  
"Then the deed had been done," he says dryly. "You slept with him, without being in love. Is that what you're trying to tell me?"  
  
Suddenly I feel the first stirring of anger rise within me. Is Peeta judging me? Didn't I just tell him that I was at a very low point?  
  
"Was that your first time?" he asks, when I don't answer, "When he visited in June that year?"  
  
"Yes," I say reluctantly, "That was my first time."  
  
He swallows. Now we're getting to the deep stuff and my hands start to get sweaty. This is not easy.  
  
"Was he...did it hurt?"  
  
Oh, no. This is too much. I start to play with the end of my braid, inspecting my split ends, one by one.  
  
"Katniss?"  
  
"A bit. Not much. It was more a feeling of something new. Unfamiliar."  
  
"And then it got better, the more often you did it," he continues. I sigh. I'm tempted to ask Peeta to forget it all, tell him that even Dr. Aurelius and Ermengarde think that I don't have to tell him. Still, I'm too afraid of leaving things unsaid.  
  
"Listen," I say, "Because I'll only tell you this once. My first time happened with Gale at the end of his two week vacation in that summer, two and a half years ago. It didn't hurt much. We did it a few times, when he visited. I cannot tell you it has been a horrible experience, because it was not horrible. Yeah, I enjoyed it. It's not what you want to hear, but it is what it is. Gale had been in relationships before me. He never hurt me. He was kind, considerate. It happened. That's all I can offer."  
  
My eyes burn when I continue, "I don't know what else to tell you. Do you want me to go into great detail? Retell every encounter? How he touched me, where I touched him and how often? Do you think I slept with Gale to spite you?"  
  
I shake my head, looking at the blanket. I'm afraid he really wants to know these things, but this is too much.  
  
"Katniss," he begs, "Please look at me."  
  
I meet his eyes and they are sad. "I'm sorry. I'm such a jealous fool. Rationally - this is stupid. But I can't help it."  
  
"I know," I say sadly, "Don't you see that I can feel how much you think about this? All that talk about not being some stud, your hunting..."  
  
Peeta's eyes are dangerously red. I suppose I should be glad that he's not inquiring after Gale's penis size, but I'm almost sure he would like to know. He's right. There is nothing rational about jealousy.  
  
"It's just...I feel so inferior to him. And half of the time I have no idea what I'm doing. Like I know, I won't be able to compete with a guy like Gale. Not only his looks, his appearance and confidence. He's been around, and I am...well, I'm a inexperienced cripple with mental issues. It's a recipe for disaster."  
  
I snort. It's not what he says, but how he says it. The fact that I can hear a little laughter in his voice, despite it all.  
  
"Now you're fishing for compliments, Mellark," I say. "You're my love. The most beautiful man around. I don't want Gale Hawthorne, I want Peeta Mellark. So, you're inexperienced... no big deal. We can learn together. I can't promise you it'll always be fun or even all that special. There aren't going to be trumpets and a great fanfare. It's going to be awkward. It'll get better. We'll get used to each other, and this will take some time."  
  
I place my hand on his chest, where his heart is.  
  
"Open your heart and let me show you."  
  
He nods.  
  
"I'll try," he wipes a tear from my nose. "Thank you for talking about this, in such an honest way. This must be very frustrating for you."  
  
Shrugging an idea forms in my head. I wonder if he's up to it, after this talk, but I think it would be a good moment to start this.  
  
"What you did, yesterday. I really liked that," I begin and he backs away.  
  
"That?" he asks, "You were serious?"  
  
Sighing, I take his hands into mine. "The first part, with the kissing, _that_ felt nice. Then when you grabbed onto me like that, that didn't. You were too rough."  
  
"I'm not into rough play, I've never.." he starts, but I cut him off with a short sweet peck on the lips. Drawing back I caress the line of his cheekbone with the back of my fingers.  
  
"I know," I whisper, dropping my voice lower, "You're gentle, right? So gentle."  
  
I'm wearing the Mellark bakery uniform, a white blouse with Peeta's logo, which he designed himself and which Effie had sewn in the Capitol and gave us as a gift. It's a button up blouse, with Peeta's name over my left breast. I take Peeta's hand and place it on the logo, where his name is sewn.  
  
"Can you feel that? My heart is beating, wildly. I'm not confident, I'm as scared as you are. But how can I resist you? Even your name is written on my heart."  
  
He laughs happily. "That's sweet," he says, looking at the place where his hand meets the blouse.  
  
"You're beautiful," I blurt out and he stares, looking up, through his impossibly blue eyes. "I've always thought so. I could look at you forever. Do you feel the same?"  
  
"Yeah," he answers, "From the moment I first saw you."  
  
If I asked Peeta, if he would like to see my breasts bared to his gaze, he would probably say no. No, I'm pretty certain he would say no, with all his insecurities. But if I make this about me, about him pleasing me, I think I can make him forget about his own issues. This is the way I can convince him. This is the way I can move him forward. Creating an atmosphere where Peeta only focuses on me and on my pleasure. I'm willing to ignore his body and his reactions for now.  
  
Lifting my hands I unbutton the blouse, slowly, without haste. Peeta doesn't move his hand, so I wrap my fingers around his wrist and move them under the blouse around my white cotton bra, directly over my breast. His hand twitches.  
  
Carefully, he weighs my breast in his hand, staring at his hand in wonder and then back to me.  
  
"Is..is that okay? I can stop, if you want," he offers, meekly, nervously.  
  
"No, no," I moan, "You don't have to stop. I like it."  
  
Encouraged by this answer he continues to knead me through the bra. This is so good, so much better than all that he thought I wanted yesterday. My chests rises and falls, my breathing turning shallow when my eyes fall closed of their own accord.  
  
When I feel Peeta's right hand on my other breast, I give a happy sigh. Yes.  
  
"You're so soft." There is a bit of awe in Peeta's statement.  
  
"Mmmh," is all I say. My cheeks are flushing. All I want is that Peeta lifts the two mounds out of the restricting bra. Normally I would tease a bit, ask him questions, like if he wants to see me naked. In this instance I leave all the power in his hands, literally. He is calling the shots, and he should do what he likes without interruption.  
  
"Katniss, oh," he moans when I open my eyes, and I see the sparkle and love reflecting in his orbs, "May I...I mean, can I open your bra?"  
  
Smiling, I nod shyly. This is it. Peeta's going to see my naked breasts. I wonder, if he'll be disappointed. There are a few burn scars he doesn't know about, which I know from his drawings.  
  
He fumbles with the clasp for a few moments, making it obvious that this is the first time he's ever touched a bra.  
  
"A little help?" he asks, looking like he does when he is concentrating hard while sketching, or baking.  
  
So help I do. Opening the bra, I let the restricting garment release my breasts and wriggle out of the blouse, tossing both on the floor with a quick flick of my wrist, making the pair jiggle a bit. I can't help it, between all that seriousness Peeta always seems to display at sex, I want to remind him that this is supposed to be fun and laughter too.  
  
Peeta takes his time and looks, long. It seems like the minutes are ticking away, when he finally lifts his eyes to meet mine.  
  
"Hello," I greet his very red face, "So, what's your verdict?" The casual manner I say this in, is in contrast to what I really feel. I _need_ his approval. I need him to say that he likes them, that he thinks they are fine. Not that I doubt him. Still I need to hear it.  
  
"They're perfect," he states, and there is no weakness left in his voice, "No fantasy could compare."  
  
He lifts his hands again, to resume his ministrations when I interrupt, "It would be... I mean, I would love it if you would use your mouth."  
  
"You mean.."  
  
"Yeah," I say, and I think I'm very red myself. Feeling a slight pulse between my legs, my nipples are puckered up, and I wonder if Peeta thinks it's because of the cold.

This is really happening.

I'm sitting topless in my house and Peeta is about to suck on my nipples. I could burst from joy, come from the thought alone. How many nights have I fantasized about this? How many nights did I lie awake, rubbed my clit furiously, dreaming about his tongue on any part of my body? My heart is beating soundly, almost skips every second beat.  
  
Peeta gently guides me onto the sofa, so that I'm lying down. He places himself next to me, and slides down a bit, his head about at eye level with my breast. Lifting his arm, he gently takes my breast in his warm hand again, keeping it firmly in place, hefting it, getting a feel for the size and form. I give a long drawn out sigh when his tongue finally meets the hot skin of my areola. With the tip of his tongue, he licks a circle around my nipple, testing the waters. First clockwise, then anti-clockwise, sensual, and agonisingly slow.  
  
"Oh, oh," I moan, encouraging Peeta, making him kiss my nipple, "Yes.." He repeats the action, lifting my breasts slightly, for better access. Whilst lavishing the left one, he begins to caress the right, with soft, heavenly touches, leaving an almost tickling sensation. This is nice. Peeta has nothing to worry about. My boy with the bread - is doing good by me and I'm sure to let him know through the sounds I make. Little gasps, helpless whimpers and shy moans leave my wetted lips and I don't even have to force myself to be vocal. It happens naturally as I let him bathe my breasts with his saliva, loving every second, feeling extremely satisfied and finally adored and loved by him. A small tear comes out of my left eye when I press my head to the side, so that he won't see. I can't let him see me cry, even the happy tears. My tears of joy, that this is really happening, that we can be together like this, that sex is not a taboo anymore. Pressing my thighs together, I lean back and let myself go.

* * *

  
  
I've lost the sense of time. I don't know how long we've been lying on the sofa. Peeta certainly worked on each of my breasts for at least ten minutes. They started to get sore after a while, but I kept my mouth shut. I never wanted this to end. When Peeta stops, the pair is moist with his spit, my nipples hardened into firm tight points, crowning my areolas, red and swollen. He doesn't stop touching them, his hands almost glued to both mounds. I guess, his jaw is hurting a bit, but that theory is proven wrong when he wriggles up to me and we begin to kiss instead, while he continues to knead them in a firm, but thoughtful manner.  
  
I have a hard time ignoring the place that didn't get any attention so far, the place that craves it the most. Peeta made no moves to touch me there, and I'm not really sure we should do this today anyway. I love the way he plays with my upper body, all the rest can wait. I'm a little tempted to touch myself, rub myself a bit. Maybe later in bed. Peeta nibbles my earlobe when we both startle at a long shrill peeping sound from the kitchen. The steaks.  
  
He laughs lightly, "I guess, food is calling."  
  
"Yeah," I answer, not wanting this to end, "Not hungry though...."  
  
My stomach rumbles in answer and he grins. "Really?"  
  
"Well, maybe a little..."  
  
He kisses my forehead an pulls himself up, looking down at me lovingly. I try my best to not check his groin area for a bulge, as I'm sure he would notice my gaze, and I didn't feel much through his pants. I don't want to spoil the mood, making him think I expect a hard-on after this, which I really don't. Still curious though.  
  
"What are you thinking?" I ask, when he doesn't say a word for a while just watches the steady fall and rise of my chest, and my heart flutters at his look.  
  
"That I love the way you taste. And your scent. It's intoxicating," he answers, smiling at me "You know, I have always loved your scent. Starting back in the cave. It was wild and exciting. So you, so Katniss Everdeen. After I came back to you the second time, your scent had changed. It was different. But not less arousing. And now I know what that was. You smell like home."  
  
He stands up and searches for my bra and blouse on the floor, giving them to me and I try to blink away the tear that forms, so he doesn't see.  
  
"I'll take a quick shower," I announce, "You okay on your own?"  
  
"Yeah, no worries. Take your time."  
  
Only when I stand under the hot spray of water in my shower, with my fingers rubbing my clit in sure, fast circles do I realise what Peeta implied. My scent, it changed. And today, after a long day at work, there was only my own sweat, my natural odor, no deodorant or perfume. I cry out when I come, knees weak, short of collapsing.  
  
The scent of cinnamon and flour.  
  
The scent of Mellark's bakery.  
  
Our home.


	12. Sender: Effie Trinket

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry dear readers. It's been another long wait, over 4 months, I know. I swore to never do it again, but this time my reasons are a bit different. The Red Letter Box is nearing its completion, the finish line is in sight. There will be one more chapter and an epilogue to come. I'm feeling nostalgic. I don't want it to end, so I'm slowing down my writing. Thank you everybody for supporting me so far, it's been unbelievable how kind you've all been to me. But wait - it's not the end yet, so lean back and enjoy the 12th chapter, Sender: Effie Trinket.

Crickets chirp highly in the tree in front of the window, almost as if they're in the room with us.  While I keep turning from one side of the bed to the other, trying to find a comfortable position I almost collide with Peeta in the process. I stop immediately, forcing my body into stillness. This is _good_ , I remind myself. A few weeks ago he was uncomfortable with light touches, hugs and kisses. Now we're lying in bed. _Together_. Still, it isn't cozy. Peeta has a hard time falling asleep with me in his bed, and cuddling happens rarely. He never falls asleep before me. This hurts, because I see it as an issue of trust. Sleeping in front of me is something that is hard for him, because he still isn't able to open himself completely. Sighing, I get up slowly. I won't find any rest in Peeta's bed tonight. I'm not even tired. My thoughts run in circles and always stop at the book that lies, deeply hidden in my drawer. Silently I crawl out of the bed and leave the room, creep down the stairs and out of his house. It isn't the first time that I leave in the middle of the night to go back to my house. I feel the slightest bit of guilt about not being able to rest next to Peeta, about leaving him like that. But then...  
  
There was a package from Effie in the mail two days ago. I had almost forgotten, that I'd asked for books on human reproduction from her. While Ermengarde tries to answer my questions as good as she can, it is still very embarrassing to me. I simply cannot talk to her about sex the way I want to. Not because I don't trust her, or she is being weird about it or something. The truth is I have nobody I can talk to about this because I don't want to. It's too private, too intimate. When I opened Effie's note she told me that the book was the most popular on the topic and included centuries of research on human sexuality.  I wrote a long and heartfelt thank you note to our former escort. I find myself reading through it every minute I find during my busy days, but mostly at night. The book, called _'Human Sexuality - A guide for the body and mind'_ , comes in an unassuming red leather cover. Effie sent me the expensive edition, one a famous artist turned biologist, created the drawings for. It's said to be an all-time-classic in the Capitol.  
  
For the first time in my life I begin to understand my body. The female anatomy, my fertility circle and finally - my fantasies. Many of them began when Peeta was gone for the year. I had been confused and thought that perhaps something was wrong with me when I imagined Peeta and me having sex in certain positions, but now I know it is natural for women to feel this way. The most interesting thing I learned is that it is important to know your own body, know what you like, know how to get off, so that you can show or tell your partner what to do. I want to take the pressure off Peeta. If I know myself, know how to make myself reach that peak, that climax, it will be easier for both of us. He shouldn't be burdened with an insecure partner, shouldn't have the responsibility of making me feel good on his own. In turn, I try to learn as much as possible about the male body. I want so badly to please Peeta, to know him, and to make him happy. I'm burning with desire, hoping every evening that he'll let me touch him a bit more. It's been weeks since he sucked my breasts and that is my go-to-fantasy to get me off by now. Our kisses became more frequent and sometimes he touches my breasts without me asking for it. It's hardly enough for me, but I know better to pressure him for more.  
  
Winter turns into spring when I start to write a book of my own. This idea has been growing inside of me for a long time. Peeta rereads the letters I wrote to him from time to time, telling me that he loves the way I write, that I have a gift for it. That, even though I have problems putting my thoughts into words verbally, I excel at writing. As soon as I started this project I left messages for Fulvia Cardew, Cressida and Hazelle. I want them to spread the word, that I am writing memoirs. Shortly after the phone didn't stop ringing. The three biggest publishing houses of Panem are trying to outbid each other. My book, they are certain, will be an instant classic, a bestseller within hours. The demand is high. And the money, the money they are offering is far beyond what I expected. Happily I contacted the Bank of Panem a few weeks ago, positive that the advance payment would be more than enough to get the bakery and the building back.  
  
They were reluctant to tell me how much the bakery is worth. Maybe sensing that I want to buy it back fast. Hot, fierce anger made me scream at the director, when I realized that they also bought the bakery because of the Mellark name, trying to push the price, so that rich Capitol folks who were or are fans of Peeta will pay a sum that exceeds the actual worth of the building and the facilities by far. They didn't want to sell it to me, that much was clear. I was beside myself with rage and began to threaten the guy, told him he could have it, we would just open another, better one. Then he calmly stated that we could - only without Peeta, as he sold the rights to his name as well. This bank, they had screwed Peeta over. My blood was boiling when I got off the phone with them.  Peeta had been in pain, under no condition to make such an important decision. The bank of Panem utilized on this. I was tempted to creating a new chapter of my book, where I would tell my readers exactly who these people were. The realness of the situation was like a rug that was pulled away under me. I never thought I would have to face such unfairness, such discussions, with such people. It was clear that the bank of Panem was still under the thumb of former Capitol people. People from the Districts would never use each other like this, would they?  
  
Spring slowly turns into summer, when Peeta and I fall into a routine. He is in the bakery more, especially since the famous summer festival is approaching fast.  
  
"I need help from the boy next door," I tell him one night, when we get ready for bed in his house. I'm not sure if I will find sleep here, but I try to go to bed with him at least. He never complains about not waking up with me. I hope I don't offend him with my actions, but it when I get up so early I need my sleep and most nights I cannot do it. I refuse to masturbate when he is in bed with me, as that would be rude. So i find my release in my house, in the shower, early in the mornings, before I leave for work.  
  
"You know, I cannot do it on my own," I whisper in his ear, "The work is overwhelming."  
  
Peeta sighs, "You're not alone, though," he says, "You have Peatrice and Eric."  
  
"As hot as they are," I say teasingly, while I play with his earlobe, "They are a far cry from famous and talented Peeta Mellark."  
  
He chuckles, and then nods. "I'll help, of course," he whispers back.  
  
Feeling a bit of relieve I snuggle closer, while Peeta massages my back.  
  
"Mmh," I mutter into his chest, already drifting off, when he suddenly speaks.  
  
"Plutarch Heavensbee called," he states coolly. I'm awake immediately, pulling myself up.  
  
"He called you?" I ask, confused. Plutarch has been working hard ignoring my letters and phone calls. For years.  
  
"Yeah," Peeta answers. "I haven't talked to him in a long time. The last time when I was at Mount Nebel."  
  
"Okay," I blubber, "What..what did he want?"  
  
"He made me an offer."  
  
An offer? What does Plutarch Heavensbee have to offer Peeta?  
  
"Don't think I didn't realize what you're doing, Katniss. You're trying to raise money so that you can buy the bakery. I know."  
  
Never have I talked to Peeta about it. Actually, I had wanted it to be a surprise. Giving it to him, when I bought it back, as a gift. I had it all planned out, but in hindsight that seems stupid. It is very obvious what I was doing these last few months.  
  
He searches for my hand and squeezes it against his heart, when I don't answer.  
  
"I'm glad," he says into the darkness, "Glad that you fight for me and my happiness. When I first realized what you were doing I wanted to stop you, I was furious and angry. I went to the bakery, ready to call you out on it, when I saw you through the window, laughing with Peatrice, and talking to some customers. You looked so happy and then it was finally clear to me that you don't only fight for the bakery so that I can have it back. You also do it for yourself. I turned around and went back home. I didn't confront you. I didn't stop you."  
  
"Oh," I say and pause for a second. "So...you...I mean, you're right. I do it for myself. I do it for you. I want it for us. Because I think it will be good. For both of us. To live a life as bakery owners. That has never been my life plan, but...I want it now."  
  
"Bakery owners," he says, weighing the words, "I never saw it this way. And it still kind of befuddles me. That you really want the bakery. That you like to work there. Never, ever would I have imagined you would like it that much. Well, maybe as a young boy...."  
  
"What did you imagine?"  
  
I'm curious about this. What were his fantasies, what kind of life did he imagine as a child?  
  
"Well," he answers, and I can just make a out a little blush on his cheeks, "You and me owning the bakery. I was an only child in the fantasy. My father and mother long gone. I sell at the front and you knead dough in the back. And between our legs a dozen kids, a mixture between black and blonde, who would never be hungry, who would always be loved. There was to be no shouting or hitting. Only love in the Mellark bakery."  
  
My eyes burn. What a sweet imagination little Peeta had.  
  
"I was six, that is my excuse," he laughs. I chuckle and sink back on the pillow, next to him.  
  
"It sounds wonderful."  
  
"Plutarch's offer was to return the bakery. As a gift, no debts left with the United Bank of Panem. A clean slate."  
  
I gasp. This is fantastic. I succeeded, it worked!  
  
"Yes," I exclaim, clapping my hands together in excitement, "Finally some good news."  
  
"I refused," Peeta says calmly.  
  
"What?"  
   
' _No'_ , I want to shout, _'No, No, No, why would you do that?'_  
  
"We're talking about Plutarch Heavensbee, Katniss. Naturally he wouldn't make that offer because he likes us so much, and only wants to see us happy. This man has ulterior motives in everything he does, and he wasn't shy when it came to the conditions. First of all he wanted to film a documentary. Of you and me, years after the war. What we were up to, how we live now."  
  
"That doesn't sound so bad," I say slowly. Yeah, I don't want our lives to be public property again, but that seems like a small price to pay to get our business back. How bad could it be?  
  
"It is bad. Do you think we would have any say in this? Plutarch insisted that we won't. So he can cut this documentary however he wants it, adding the off-commentary he wants. He's out to manipulate again, and I won't have it. I don't want any camera team filming us, nor do I want to be a public figure ever again. This is not good for my healing. He wanted to do a TV-show on mentally ' _challenged_ ' war-survivors as he called them, when he talked to me on Mount Nebel. Dr. Aurelius would have received a nice donation if he'd agreed, but he is too wise and saw through Plutarch's plan. This is serious stuff. Plutarch believes himself a puppet master, stringing us all along. We shouldn't be a part of this."  
  
"Oh," I say, slightly puzzled, never knowing that Peeta dislikes Plutarch this much. I admit I'm not his biggest fan either, but always kind of..well, saw him as not exactly one of the good guys, but at least an ally. He played a big part in the revolution, and he always seemed like an intelligent man. Like he would listen to reason. Sometimes.  
  
"This is not all." His voice tightens. "He wanted me to promise that I would do all in my power to stop your writing. He doesn't want this book published, Katniss. He tried to hide it real good, like this condition was only an afterthought, but I think this is his main motivation. He is scared. I guess, he has spies with the publishers and as soon as he realized that they were willing to pay good money he was happy to open his purse. It's not even his own money, but money from the government. I told him no. He said, "If you could only convince her that this is not such a good idea.." and then started a rant about hiring a ghostwriter for you, if you really want to publish a book. So that you could work together. I hung op on him then."  
  
I'm so shocked by these words and more or less ashamed at myself that I had almost fallen for the offer.  
  
"Why would he call you? Why not tell me of these plans himself?"  
  
Peeta hesitates for a second, "I have a few theories. One, he thinks you do hold a grudge for what happened with your retrial. And two, he thinks I can influence you, while he doesn't believe that I'm as clever as you are. I'm easier to fool. And it is my bakery. He probably believed I would do all I could to have my shop back, not counting on the fact that you are involved with the business."  
  
Shaking my head I nestle closer, "Do you really believe that Plutarch would underestimate you like this?"  
  
Peeta chuckles darkly, "You might not believe it, but most people think you're the brain behind the star crossed lovers."  
  
Shivering I try to breathe in deeply, and succeed. It's been a very long time since Peeta referred to us as the star-crossed-lovers. The words bear a certain weight, and I realize that I despise them. It is not us. We're not that.  
  
"That's not true," is all I say. Once more I cannot find the words for what I'm feeling.  
  
"It is. Plutarch Heavensbee also chose you, Katniss. Made you the Mockingjay. You know that. You know, I was disposable," he pauses and then slowly says, "I was very naive when I got reaped. While I knew that the world was no happy place, I also bought the Capitol propaganda. I was too sensitive for the games. Too soft."  
  
Now I really have to speak up, "You told me something. On the roof before our first games. That you wanted to die as yourself. That you thought you had no chance, but did not want to become a monster, didn't want them to change you. That didn't sound like some simpleton spoke them. You're intelligent. Long before I even realized the meaning, you knew."  
  
He waits for a moment and then says, "Might be so. We were young. It feels like a lifetime ago. I'm not so sure now, who I was and what I felt before the games. I wanted to keep you safe. Keep you alive, that's why I joined the careers. It might seem noble in retrospect, but sometimes I wonder if I did all this, confessed my love and tried to get you back home because I was so afraid of facing what was really happening. That I was going to be in The Hunger Games and that I was going to die. I focused on you so that I didn't have to focus on myself. I gave up on me. There wasn't much love of self in my life. Sure I didn't want to die as someone else, but why was that the most important to me? Wouldn't that be not dying at all? For me it wasn't."  
  
Coldness seeps through my veins. Peeta is opening up, and I should be glad for it. But what he is telling me is dark. So dark I'm not sure I can handle it. Peeta is my hope, my sun, the one who makes the world brighter. That he didn't value his life, that he had been in such a dark place - it is scaring me.  
  
"I'm sorry," he says, "This conversation got weird, real fast. I think you would make a good Dr. Aurelius. You listen and ask the right questions. Anyway, back to Plutarch. I told him take his offer and shove it. You will write your book. And you will publish it under your terms. If the publishers want you to make any edits, you can refuse. We will find someone who wants to print the truth. You can do it."  
  
I'm not so sure about that.  
  
"My original plan was exactly what Plutarch proposed, Peeta," I admit, "I never planned to publish the book. I only wanted the bakery back. It doesn't surprise me that Plutarch wants to avoid this, I counted on it."  
  
"Does that feel right to you?" he asks, voice shaking, "To get the bakery through such means? I mean, it wasn't stolen from me. I sold it, because I needed the money. I know there has to be a solution, soon. I really didn't want to ask for it, but I got an backdated invoice last week. The bank wants to see money. If we continue to bake in the building they want a piece of the cake, so to say. Rent for the building and facilities, share of the turnover."  
  
I can only gasp. What?  
  
"Yeah, I know. However this plays out I don't want you to give up your book. And if you end up publishing it, don't use the all of your money for the bakery."  
  
"Peeta," I begin. Of course, I will use the money. It is the solution to all of our problems, presented on a silver plate.  
  
"I'll stop hunting," he announces. Unconsciously my hands turn into fists.  
  
There it is. He will stop hunting. While I should be happy about this, I am not. He notices my frown.  
  
"Working in the bakery won't make enough money. I want the bakery back, but I want to buy it myself. With my own money that I earned with honest work. I started looking for a job a while ago and I will work with the construction crew, starting next week."  
  
"No," I plead.  
  
"The pay is good," he reinforces, "And you don't need to fire Peatrice and Eric. I wouldn't be able to either, Elmar and Cora were hard enough. The construction job involves painting and decorating, so it is not like it'll be a job I dislike."  
  
"But Peeta," I respond, "Please think about this more. Let's find a way to work in the bakery. We need you there." Struggling, I try to find a solution but my thoughts are all chaotic. Maybe we can make it work if Peatrice reduces her hours? I cannot force that on Eric, he needs the money more.  
  
"It's not so bad, Katniss," Peeta says softly, "I'll continue to help you guys in my free time. Maybe in the mornings, before the construction work begins. I'm young and strong. I hope to get the bakery back before I turn thirty."  
  
I'm not satisfied with this plan. It could be done, faster, easier. The United Bank of Panem has no argument. As soon as Peeta and me stop working at the bakery, it will wither. The building isn't even worth that much. I know he needed the money, but that he signed away the name "Mellark's Bakery" was the biggest mistake. The name, and Peeta himself made the shop. And the Bank of Panem is counting on it. I don't want Peeta to overwork himself. I've seen what happens to him when he stops having leisure time. It might not be that bad this time, because I am involved now, but generally too much stress will be a big mistake for us. Construction work is physical. Might be that Peeta will set a punishing pace. Might be that Peeta destroys his body before he can even make it to thirty. That he wants to buy it back with his own money is understandable, but still...I cannot let him go that far.  
  
"We don't have to decide that tonight," I say, hoping to find sleep soon, so that I can find a solution in the days to come.  
  
Peeta sighs and we settle into our usual position in each other's arms, falling into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

  
  
There is no magical solution. Peeta starts his construction job the following week and I stay at the bakery. He's uneasy when he shows me the payment requests from the bank. Rightfully so, as I cannot hide my anger at them. Payment is due in two weeks. I wonder if these sudden demands are my fault. Did I wake sleeping dogs when I started to inquire, when I contacted the bank last year? Suddenly they seem aware that they own it. I give Peeta a forced smile and tell him not to worry. There is some profit we made during the year. It's not much, as I had to pay Peatrice and Eric and buy ingredients, but the first two or three rates should be covered by the sum. However, we need more - and soon. That Peeta wants to pay it by himself might be good for his confidence and self-sense, but in the mean time we have to pay for absolutely nothing, helping the Bank of Panem getting richer. This is ridiculous, even Haymitch and Ermengarde agree, when I open up about our financial situation one afternoon in Ermengarde's practice, while Peeta is out in the District, working hard.  
  
"I could help you guys, Katniss," Haymitch offers, "I'm sure I could pay for it."  
  
Ermengarde nods, "There are still some savings left. But I have a feeling that Peeta wouldn't want that money, right?"  
  
"Spot on," I confirm, "He wants to buy it back with his own money. And even if it's only one half. I'm proud of him, that he wants to do this his own way, but he makes it unnecessarily hard on us at the bakery, too."  
  
"Perhaps..." Haymitch starts, "Maybe I can try and talk to him. Convince him that no matter what, it'll be the best to cut out all relations to that stupid bank."  
  
He gives me a long look.  
  
"Would you?" I ask in a hopeful voice.  
  
"Of course, Katniss," Haymitch says, smiling "I want to help the boy."  
  
"You could also ask Dr. Aurelius to help Peeta. Make him more open to accepting help," Ermengarde suggests.  
  
This is a good idea, but the last thing I want is to make Peeta feel like I put several people on him, concerning this. Peeta has to make his own decisions and choices. He knows my stand on the matter. And now it is up to him, how to proceed. There is not much more I can do.  
  
Peeta arrives shortly after and we walk back to the Victor's Village hand in hand, a stupid grin etched on my face, as we walk past the bakery, because Peeta was the one who grabbed my hand.  
  
"I must smell like a pig," he laughs, when a light wind strokes us from the side.  
  
"It's not so bad," I giggle. "I like your scent."  
  
"Really?" he laughs, "That's because you haven't smelled under my armpit. Go on take a whiff."  
  
He moves his arm up and closer, while I shriek and try to escape. Peeta is faster and captures my hand again.  
  
"I promise, I'll take a shower when we're home," he says, after we leave the last houses of Town behind. The light manner in which he squeezes my hand, makes me think he has something to say.  
  
"Will you sleep in my house tonight?" he asks.  
  
"I've been sleeping there for weeks," I answer, laughing. What does he mean?  
  
"And waking up somewhere else." His voice is low, quiet. He hides his eyes when I look up at him. Blushing, I curse myself. Of course, he worried. Of course, he thought it was rude.  
  
"Are you scared of me?" he asks. "Did I say something in my sleep? Or...or do something?"  
  
"No," I deny, "No, no. Not at all. Peeta, I'm sorry."  
  
"Why do you leave then?"  
  
"I.." Gosh, this is hard. ' _Honesty'_ , I remind myself, ' _Honesty, Katniss'_.  
  
"I have to. If I wouldn't I would attack you in your sleep."  
  
He stops and stares at me. "Attack?"  
  
Looking back at him through wide eyes, I smile. "I must go, because I cannot hold myself back. If I stayed I would touch you. I would undress you. I would kiss you. On your mouth, your chest, your belly. And lower. All those places of you, I'd like to know. It is hard to hold back. Almost impossible. So I go. Back into my house. To touch my mouth, my breasts, my belly. And lower. While I imagine my hand and my fingers to be yours. I need this Peeta, but I don't want to hurt you. So that's why I leave."  
  
Peeta's cheeks are flaming red.  
  
"Oh," he says, and adds a more determined, "Oh. Yeah. Okay."  
  
He holds out his hand again and I take it, while we continue on. We stay silent until we reach his house. He takes out his key and opens the door.  
  
"Come in," he says, looking at me. It sounds like a question. I step in, as he closes the door behind me and takes my hand into his once more. Taking a deep breath, we continue to walk until we arrive in his sitting room. Stopping in front of the sofa, I see that there are several tins of paint and rolls of tapestry on the table.  
  
"This room..," he begins, ".. is like a ghost. A bad spirit. It reminds me of that day, and I hate to think of that day. I can barely step in here without seeing...things. So...working in construction, painting and creating, I found out that there are many possibilities. I decided that I would like renovate my house. Fix it. And I want to finish this room last. Demolish it, and create something new."  
  
He looks at me shyly. "What do you think? Would you like to help?"  
  
"Yes. This is a wonderful idea," I look around the room, "I never liked the interior decoration of the houses anyway. Too dark. Too Capitol."  
  
Suddenly I can see it too. This room, with new furniture, new colors. It is possible.  
  
Turning around Peeta is in front of me. Close, so close. He looks down into my eyes.  
  
"It'll be exhausting," he says deeply, "Renovating is only for the toughest. It's going to be strenuous, so challenging that you will hardly be able move your little limbs upstairs, and most certainly not to your house. You'll need your sleep. You'll need to stay. In _my_ bed. Do you understand?"  
  
A shudder runs through my body at these words. Oh, oh. I'm getting wet. From his voice and the way he looks at me.  
  
"Yeah," I lick my lips, "Your bed. Absolutely."  
  
"Good," he grins at me, his eyes twinkling. "We start tomorrow. I'll pick you up from work so that you can help carry more paint. Alright?"  
  
"Alright," I answer and he smiles.  
  
"Shower time," Peeta whispers, "Do you wanna join me?"  
  
"Eh?" I stare. This is not possible. Is this real? He must be kidding. It's impossible to describe how much I want and need this. Unfortunately I'm at the end of my period. Still bleeding a bit and I don't want to confront him with that of all things, the first time we're going to be completely naked together.  
  
Peeta senses my discomfort. His eyes lose their shiny twinkle, and the teasing is gone from his tone. "Just joking, Katniss."  
  
I don't know what to say. This isn't rejection. I loved what he said. His invitation. He turns away and I grab his arm.  
  
"I'd love to," I say soothingly, "But not tonight."  
  
"You just don't want to smell my armpit," he says, and the teasing is back. Good.  
  
"Let's just say that you wouldn't want to be the one to smell _me_ tonight. I heard that renovating is dirty business, though. We'll shower together. I promise."  
  
Peeta wraps his arms around me gently. It is so strange, the way he changes from confident and teasing to insecure and hesitant.  
  
I circle my arms around his hips and lose myself in the shining blue of his eyes.  
  
"Kiss?" I ask, a little smile playing around the edges of my mouth.  
  
We let our lips and tongues do the talking, then.

* * *

  
  
Starting at the first floor we throw out all the furniture. Because the quality is top notch, we have no problems selling most of it in town and make some money in the process. Haymitch gets most of the wooden furniture, for he can make new things with the planks. In return he builds us a new bed and chairs and tables. Together, he and Peeta spend most of their free time in the workshop. All the plush carpets are thrown out and I go slightly crazy with the coloring, giddy like a child.  
  
"Your house should be painted with a mixture of a soft orange and a dark green," I announce one afternoon, while we work in the adjacent bathroom, next to the bedroom.  
  
Peeta laughs so loudly I look up at him, shocked. "Katniss, if you mix orange and green you'll get a murky shade of brown. Trust me, we won't want that."  
  
"You're the painter," I mumble, embarrassed by my lack of knowledge in that area.  
  
"Take off your shirt," he says suddenly.  
  
"What?" I wear an old work shirt of his, from the bakery for the renovation.  
  
He grins, "Let's mix orange and green. Maybe you're right, and we only need the right mixture, to create something incredible. I need canvas to try it out, though."  
  
I lift my eyebrows.  
  
"Yeah," he nods. "Don't worry, I'll use the oil colors you gave me for New Years. They won't irritate your skin."  
  
Hesitantly I remove my shirt. My bra follows, when Peeta goes to get his brushes and palette. Feeling courageous I also get rid of my socks, boots, jeans and finally panties. It's a bit cold in the bathroom and I shiver. My nipples get hard from the cold.  
  
When Peeta returns with the colors he doesn't even look that surprised. I don't know if he plays it cool or if he really feels that way.  
  
"It's a bit cold," I say, knowing that the colors on my skin won't warm me up. Summer is almost upon us, but the Victor's houses are always cool.    
  
He seems to think for a while.  
  
"Let's go into my painting room. The light is best in there."  
  
He walks in front and I follow him. Naked. It's naughty and fun. In Peeta's atelier stands a small couch with some blankets on top.  
  
"Lie down," he says and I splay myself on the fluffy fabric, putting a pillow under my head.  
  
Peeta gets on his knees in front of me, his head near mine and I can see that he is blushing now.  
  
"Did you know," he says, while he mixes a bright sunset orange next to a dark forest green on the palette, "That I drew countless pictures of you naked?"  
  
"Yeah," I answer, hoping he won't be mad at me for discovering them, "I found the ledger in the bakery."  
  
"Oh," he looks up at me, "What did you think? Creepy?"  
  
"No," I answer honestly, "I felt warm and happy. Aroused. And a bit insecure. I'm not as beautiful as the Katniss you imagined."  
  
He shakes his head, looking at the brush in his hand. "That's not true."  
  
"How can you say that?" I tease, "You haven't taken a closer look."  
  
I almost hear him gulp. "Isn't this weird for you? Being naked and vulnerable, while I am kneeling here in all of my clothes?"  
  
"Quite the opposite," I growl, "I'm turned on. Come on, Peeta. Use that color on me."  
  
He begins on my left breast, over my heart. And that is what he paints, in the soft orange at first. Teasing my nipple with the brush, he adds more shades of orange, swirling the paint around in a curly pattern.  
  
"Mmh," I groan, pressing my thighs together. "Green, Peeta. I need more green."  
  
"Don't be hasty," he chuckles, "I have a plan for every part of your beautiful body."  
  
He begins to work in earnest then. Concentrates on the orange heart for a while and then begins to use the dark shade of green. Paints a stem that goes from my breast down my belly, around the criss-crossing of my scars and ending shortly before my dark curls and back up again to the swell of my breast. He keeps adding little leaves halfway. On the side and around my bellybutton.  
  
"Peeta," I moan. He nods. He feels, senses, knows what I want. He is still focusing on the leaf, when I pull his wrist gently, motioning for him to put the brush away. He puts it on the floor and turns his attention back to me.  
  
"What now?" he asks, voice shivering.  
  
"What would you like?" I ask.  
  
He smiles. "I want to please you. Like that time on the couch."  
  
Warmth spreads through me, when I smile back. "Would you like to take it a bit further tonight?"  
  
He swallows and then comes a short, "Uhm. Yeah." I don't allow myself to overthink this hesitant answer, and move my hand between my legs. "Watch me. And when you're ready, join my fingers."  
  
Opening my legs slightly, I pet the curls over my mound gently. I'm sweating, the area around my slit is damp with perspiration.  
  
"Go ahead," I tell Peeta, "Have a closer look."  
  
Complying he moves away from my head and kneels in front of my most intimate place, giving the nest of curls a loving look. I spread my outer lips gently, exposing my clit from under its little hood.  
  
"Incredible," he whispers, making me feel his warm breath. "It's like a flower, like petals opening to the sun."  
  
Rubbing my lips slowly I take my time to watch Peeta's expression. He is not looking at my face but moves his face, closer and closer, unconsciously licking his lips. A low moan leaves me.  
  
He looks up at me, "Promise me, that you'll let me draw you again."  
  
"Of course," I promise, thinking "Whatever you want. Whenever you want. In any position you want." Continuing to masturbate in front of him, I enjoy the mesmerized awe on his face. It makes me feel so beautiful, so loved.  
  
"Feel free to explore," I say after a while, "Touch me, Peeta."  
  
His hand, so much bigger, covers mine easily. His middle finger joins the gentle ministrations.  
  
"How does it feel?" I ask.  
  
"Warm. Wet. Like you're melting. Sweet." A pause, "Amazing. Just amazing."  
  
Groaning my hips begin to move out of their own volition, seeking his fingers, rubbing myself on them. Fast. Faster.  
  
"Katniss," he whimpers, "Katniss, I'm _hard_ , gosh, so hard."  
  
"Yeah. That's good, so good," I mewl, closing my eyes, "Do you...ah, do you want me to touch you?"  
  
He shakes his head, and breathes in deeply, "I want to...with my tongue...can I?"  
  
"Yes," I almost shout, "Yes, yes. Do it. Lick me."  
  
Taking my hand away I grab onto his locks, not caring that the pearly drops of my wetness glisten in his golden curls like the morning dew of the grasses in my woods. I guess, I should help and instruct him how to do it correctly, but that thought leaves me as soon as he buries his nose between my legs and takes a deep sniff at it.  
  
The sound that leaves me reacting to this primal act can only be described as a low whine. When Peeta takes the first long lap, dragging his tongue in one agonizingly slow sweep, I know I won't be able to last long. I can hardly stand the sensation and bury my hand deeper into his hair.  
  
"Peeta," I whimper. _'Peeta, Peeta, Peeta'_ , I think.  
  
My orgasm hits me fast, unexpected. Drowning in the sensation my toes curl, making my feet and legs shudder. My hands are still interwoven into Peeta's hair when he suddenly falls back onto his hands. He stands, practically jumps up and stares at me out of red eyes. His mouth is wet and his gaze is wild. My eyes fly down to his loose working pants. He is spotting a huge hard-on.  
  
"Pee..ta?" I ask, unsure, feeling suddenly naked, exposed. I hold out my hand. I want to be close. Cuddle. Help him. Touch him. Make him happy. But he already turns around, running away.  
  
"No," I shout, "Peeta, wait."  
  
Standing up, I look around for something to put on, but my clothes are in the bedroom. Following him out of the room I hear the lock of his bathroom turning. Has he locked himself in the bathroom?  
  
Entering the bedroom I slip into my panties and slowly dress myself.  
  
Listening hard, I creep to the door and put my hand on the wood.  
  
"Peeta?" I whisper.  
  
Nothing from the other side. No water running. No...jerking off noises. Nothing.  
  
"Please," I beg, "Say something."  
  
"Would you leave?" comes his voice, muffled, numb. He sounds tired and exhausted, "I need you to leave."  
  
_'Leave and let me do my job'_  
_'Go away'_  
_'I don't want to see you'_  
  
I hear his words, and I am back, back in his bakery looking into his eyes. Cold, unforgiving. It is clear that he wants nothing to do with me. It is clear that he _hates_ me now. The feeling is back, the feeling of my heart being quenched in my chest. Slowly I have to force myself to breathe. Calm down. We're not in the bakery. We are in Peeta's house in the Victor's Village. Long years have passed since then. We are different people. I have to be the mature one.  
  
"Yeah," I say, and try to make my voice soothing, void of any hurt feelings, feelings that are still there, no matter how much I fight them, "I'll leave you alone. But I'll be back soon. Okay?" If he doesn't agree, I won't leave. But I refuse to deny him this privacy he needs and wants.  
  
A long pause. Then,  
  
"Okay."  
  
So I turn, leave the bedroom, walk down the stairs and through his hall, out of the door, over his front lawn to the other side of the road. Return to my own house, and my own bathroom. Undressing in some kind of trance, I proceed to lock the door behind me. Hiding to clear away the traces of the flower that Peeta had so gently, so softly put onto my naked body. The delicate lines which had made me feel loved and happy. The orange heart is a sight I cannot stand anymore, without sobbing. I take a bottle of shower gel and pour the milk-white liquid into my palm, proceed to clean away all the traces of it. My hands don't find the place between my legs, the place that always gets the most attention when I'm alone in my shower.  
  
All arousal has left me.  
  
All desire has faded out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might seem like a huge step backwards for Everlark at the end there, but is it really? Tell me what you think, I would love to hear your thoughts and discuss.


End file.
